


the feeling of safety

by clarakent (niewanyin)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Barbara Gordon, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha Helena Bertinellli, Alpha Kate Kane, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Bette Kane, Gen, Home Invasion, Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Omega Clark Kent, Omega Tim Drake, Panic Attacks, Rape Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2020-10-18 05:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20634185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/pseuds/clarakent
Summary: Tim is assaulted during a home invasion, and rescued in the aftermath by Dick. Afterwards, they discover things that change the course of Tim's life forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [salazarastark (niewanyin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niewanyin/pseuds/salazarastark) in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

> I want to thank the mods of IIBB for making this incredibly fun challenge that enabled me to write this story.

"Are you okay?" Dick frowns as he tries to place the back of his hand on Tim's forehead. He manages to duck out of the way just in time, but it only makes Dick frown deeper.

"Y-yeah," Tim stutters out, plastering a smile on his face, one he hopes that Dick buys. He's not sure how successful it is. Dick is still frowning, hand twitching like he's about to move it to check Tim's temperature again. Which is probably higher than it should be.

At least, he feels like it is. Everything is pretty bright and wavy, and he feels really warm and light.

Yeah, okay, he definitely has a fever. He doesn't know why he's pretending that he doesn't.

Except that he doesn't want Dick to look at him and see weakness. He has to prove that he was just as good a Robin as Dick or Jason was. He knows he's not, but he has to at least _ try_.

Dick is just looking at him with that deep frown and narrowed eyes, but he finally let's it go with a, "How about we cut patrol early? I've had a long day and it's been a quiet night."

They still have an hour left, but the idea of getting into bed and sleeping sounds so good that Tim just nods with exhaustion. The frown changes into a small smile. "Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it. Get home and get some rest yourself. I'll take care of B."

Tim should be arguing and fighting about this, but he can't. He just really wants to sleep. "I will."

Home is twenty minutes away, and his bedtime routine is a quick shower and stuffing his Robin uniform in its special box before he flops down on his bed, downing some cold medicine so that hopefully he can beat this cold and become useful to Bruce and Dick again as fast as possible.

He closes his eyes, and drifts off into a dreamless sleep

*

He wakes up with a hand over his mouth and _ someone _ crawling into bed with him.

He’s home alone. His parents shouldn’t be coming back for another week, and they never bother to wake him up when they get back. His heart is pounding so loud that he can hear it in his ears. His palms are sweaty as he tries to bring his hands up to fight against the stranger’s hand covering his mouth, but he _ can’t_. His limbs are too heavy and he’s too hot and he’s so incredibly scared right now.

The person is under the covers and Tim is having a hard time breathing. He’s not sure when, but suddenly his vision has gone blurry and he’s pretty sure he’s crying and it’s just . . . it’s just . . . it’s just too much and nothing has even _ happened _ yet.

But something will.

And he knows what it’s going to be because there’s no other reason for this man being in bed with him.

And he feels it when this man (who is so much bigger than him, he has at least a foot on Tim) grinds against Tim’s back and he can feel . . . _ it_.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this scared in his life.

He can’t even think the word. His mind stutters over it, refuses to let him comprehend. Tim whimpers, tears leaving his eyes even faster. He’s _ Robin_. This isn’t supposed to happen to him. He’s supposed to be braver and stronger and able to fight. But he can’t move a single muscle. He’s just lying here while the man shoves down his pajama bottoms. The only thing he’s apparently capable of doing is to flinch and sob in response.

He knows what comes next. He’s read erotica, looked at some pictures, and even watched porn a couple times. There’s fingers and lube, but Tim doesn’t have that last thing so he doesn’t know what’s going to happen here.

And then he feels a blunt pressure trying to force its way through his body and he tries to scream, but he can’t . . . he can’t scream. The hand on his mouth is trapping in the scream as . . . _ it _ forces his way through his body.

It’s big. He didn’t think it was possibly for it to be as big as this one feels. It’s just pushing its way terribly though his body, and Tim tries to force it out, but there’s one hand on his hip that’s holding him down and the other over his mouth and there’s nothing he can _ do _. He’s just made to take this, take all this pain.

“Tight,” is breathed into his ear, low and scratchy. The man behind him smells dirty, Tim realizes. Unshowered and like alcohol and grim and cigarettes. His breath is even worse. And his hand over Tim’s mouth is suddenly the most disgusting thing in the world and suddenly Tim finds it in him to fight.

Except he can’t. The man is too strong and all Tim’s struggle does is allow the man to get _ deeper _ inside him. “No,” he wants to sob out, but that means opening his mouth and that means _ tasting _ the man.

And then with one final thrust, the man pushes into him fully and he removes the hand on Tim’s mouth. He _ breathes_, deep and shuddering, unable to comprehend what just happened to him. What’s happening right now as the man moves that other hand down to his other hip and then literally pulls off Tim off his cock to push him back down again.

Tim screams.

This is the worst pain he’s ever experienced in his life. He doesn’t . . . he doesn’t think he’s going to survive this. He’s just a toy for this man, this disgusting, grunting man behind him. He’s crying so hard he can’t see, gripping his pillow tightly and turning his face into it. Maybe he’ll suffocate himself like this if he’s lucky.

Time has no meaning because it becomes endless. Everything is centered on this man. His panting in Tim’s ear, the feeling of _ it _ inside Tim, the scratching and dirty clothes that Tim can feel against his skin. There’s a beard rubbing against his neck and he knows he has bruises on his hips. 

And then somehow it ends.

It’s awful. The man shudder and bucks inside him, and Tim feels the sticky, warm, burn of cum inside, mixing when the blood that he has just become aware is on his thighs, leaking from him.

For a moment, Tim thinks this is it, but then he feels a burning pain inside him and he screams into his pillow. Whatever it is, it's huge and painful and . . . and . . .

And it's a knot.

Tim is being knotted right now. He's screaming and crying as he holds his pillow, fat tears splashing down his cheeks as he tries to push out the knot, but it won't go away, it just stays in him and he thinks he's tearing even more, blood spilling even more down as his thighs.

Eventually his sobs taper off and he stares at the wall in front of him. The man chuckles as eventually the only noise Tim makes is choked off whimpers. "Good lil' knot slut," he whispers rancidly in Tim's ear. "You're such an omega bitch it's not even funny."

Omega? Tim's not an omega. He's a -

He's had a fever and increased sense of smell these past few days. Dick has noted how his own scent has changed through the scent blockers. He is . . . he is . . . oh God, he's in _ heat _.

He's an omega. That man smelled him and decided to rape him because of that and it makes Tim want to _ scream_. He opens his mouth to snap at him, but the next thing he knows, he has a knife at his throat. "Omegas should be seen, not heard. You say one word, I'll gut you like a fish like I did with others. _ They _ didn't listen to me."

Tim hates himself. He really, truly hates himself.

He stays quiet.

He spends an agonising hour biting his lip so hard he can feel it start to bleed before his rapist gets up. The man chuckles as he stands up, as he smacks Tim’s ass as Tim continues to cry into the pillow. “Good boy,” he whispers in that same voice. “Leave you a little present.”

That only jolts new fear into his heart. He whimpers into the pillow, trying to scramble up, but he can’t move his legs and his arms don’t really want to cooperate. But it doesn’t matter because the man pushes Tim over, onto his front, and then he shoves something up inside Tim. It feels strange and smooth and too _ much_. Tim doesn’t bother screaming, but he can’t stop the moan.

He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t want to know.

All he does know is that he is lying in his own bed where he was just . . . where he was just . . . 

He can’t go back to sleep, but he can’t move either. He just stays in his bed, head buried in his pillow as he shakes and tries to convince himself to get up. He needs to take another shower, he needs to get up and change his sheets, he needs to . . . 

His phone is ringing. Why is his phone ringing? He raises his head and looks towards his nightstand, his cellphone ringing cheerfully, like its owner’s world hadn’t completely been destroyed.

He doesn’t want to answer it, but it could be important. So he’ll answer it and act normal and then he’s done, he’ll get up and try to put this terrible night behind him.

He fumbles for the phone and answer the call, pressing it tightly to his ear.

“Tim!” Dick’s voice comes through the call. “Shit, I didn’t mean to-”

Hearing Dick breaks something inside of Tim, and the next thing he knows he’s holding onto the phone as sobs erupt out of his throat, choking him. He can’t see anything in front of him, and he’s only vaguely aware of Dick’s panicked voice in his ear. He tries to calm himself down, to tell Dick he’s okay and he doesn’t need to worry, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is “hurts” and “please.”

He knows it’s bad, but he doesn’t want to be alone, even though he knows he’s just going to be a burden to Dick.

He thinks he hears Dick saying that he’s coming, but Tim doesn’t know. He feels like he doesn’t know anything, that his entire world has just been ripped to shreds.

He hears a door bang open and he yelps and flinces, jarring his entire body and making it hurt _ more_.

“Tim!” is shouted through his house, and another sob is escaping his lips. It’s Dick, pounding up the stairs to get to Tim, to rescue him a little too late.

Tim tries to burrow into his covers. He wants Dick to be here, to tell him everything's going to be okay. He doesn't want Dick to see him like this, broken and sobbing in his bed.

His bedroom door slams open, and Dick's sharp intake of breath. "_Jesus_," he hears whispered, and then Dick is in front of his face, eyes wide and bright.

"Tim, what happened?" Dick asks, voice somehow steady despite how gross Tim must look and he starts to card his fingers through Tim's sweaty hair.

He opens his mouth to answer, but all he does is let out another sob. He hurts so much. There is blood and cum on his thighs and something inside him. He is so hot that he feels like he's burning alive. 

He wants to die. 

"Tim," Dick says again. "I am going to ask you some questions. You can just nod or shake your head. That's all that I'm looking for. Do you understand?"

Tim nods.

"Okay, good." There's a deep breath and then in a deceptively calm voice. "Do you know who raped you?" Dick doesn’t even ask for confirmation about what happens. It’s much too clear what actually happened to him.

He wants to nod his head. He would do anything to nod his head.

He forces himself to shake his head.

A low growl starts in Dick's throat, cut off when Tim flinches. Dick smells strange. He smells stronger. Like honey and blueberries. It's his natural alpha scent, but he doesn't know why it's affecting him more than it usua-

Heat. He's in heat.

Dick can tell. He sees it in the way that Dick's eyes soften and his face falls as Tim continues to sob.

"Hu-hurts," manages to escape and it's the truth because every single nerve in his body feels on fire.

"I know, baby bird," Dick says soothingly. "Let's get you to the Cave and get you all cleaned up, okay?"

Tim nods, and Dick takes it as permission to lift Tim up like he weighs nothing. Dick’s arms are strong and steady, and Tim buries his head into Dick’s neck and tries to breathe in as much of the smell as he possibly can. “Tell me if I’m making it worse, okay?”

Tim nods. “Okay,” he whimpers out. Every part of his body hurts, radiating pain and misery. He feels it beating in his eye sockets, in his hair and his fingernails, curling around all his nerves and tugging them so they light his nerves on fire. He feels the stickiness of blood, cum, and slick on his thighs and trailing out of his body.

Dick starts to move, and Tim can’t stop the whimpers clawing their way out of his throat. It hurts, it hurts so fucking much, but he can’t tell Dick to stop because that means Dick will put him down and leave him.

Tim can’t be left right now. He can’t be left alone.

Besides, he needs medical attention no matter what. No one else will treat him as gently as Dick is treating him right now.

The stairs are pure hell however, every step that Dick is making as he moves down the stairs jarring everything loose inside of Tim to the point that he can’t stop the bone-breaking sobs that are erupting out of his throat. Dick has to sit down on the steps and hold him close until Tim calms down, and he hates it. His fingers grip Dick’s shirt as tightly as possible, and he finds himself begging Dick not to leave him.

“I’m not leaving you,” he feels whispered into his hair. “Never going to leave you.”

Tim sobs until he can't anymore, his throat too raw to allow anything else to come out of him. He keeps crying though, tears dripping silently out of his eyes and onto Dick's shirt. He doesn't think he's stop crying since the man crawled into bed with him. He doesn't know if he'll ever stop.

Finally Dick stands back up, and Tim bites back the whimpers it takes to get down the rest of the steps. He shouldn't complain, not when he's so pathetic he can't even walk.

But he hurts so much.

After what he feels like must be forever, Dick is down the stairs and he's almost sprinting to the car. Tim just closes his eyes and tries to float into darkness.

***

There is so much fury coursing through Dick. He feels on the verge of rut, his entire body shaking as he holds a fucking _ child _ who has just been raped in his first heat close to him. Tim is whimpering and crying because he's in so much pain that every damn step Dick is taking is hurting him. His face is pressed into Dick's neck, and he can feel the tears that are pattering onto his skin, stabbing him with their warmth, at how he _ failed_.

He has one arm around Tim's back, the other arm underneath his knees. He can feel the wet stain of blood and cum on his pajama pants, worryingly big.

Who the hell does this to a child? Tim's fourteen. He wasn't prepared. He wasn't _ ready_.

If Dick ever finds the man who raped Tim, he's going to rip out his throat with his fucking _ teeth_, fuck Bruce's code.

No one hurts Tim like this.

He gets to the car and lowers Tim into the passenger seat. For a moment, Tim refuses to let go of Dick's neck, but Dick didn't bring a Batmobile and he actually needs to drive back to the Manor. He also needs to call Leslie and tell her to get here as soon as she can, and call Alfred to tell him to set up a medical bay for Tim, and call Bruce to . . . to tell him that they failed another Robin.

It's a heavy heart that he manages to unclasp Tim's grip on his neck, and Tim instantly curls into himself, gripping his stomach which Dick knows must be in terrible pain right now.

Dick doesn't care how many speed limits he has to break or how much he has to abuse his status as a police officer. He's getting to the Manor in record time.

His hands are shaking on the wheel as he zips through traffic, everything a distant pounding in his ears.

Tim is still crying next to him.

The Manor isn't that far, he just needs to call. His hand stumbles over the buttons and he blinks back his tears.

He can't focus on his own shit right now.

Tim is the only one who matters.

He calls Alfred first. Honestly, Alfred is the only one he needs to call. As soon as he tells Alfred what happened, he'll take care of everything else.

"Master Dick," he hears over the phone, the calm voice of his psuedo-Grandfather steady in his ear. "Is everything alright?"

Dick wants to cry, but forces his eyes on the road. "No," he chokes out. "It's not."

He glances towards the huddled and crying form of Tim. He takes a deep breath. "Tim was attacked," rushes out of his mouth. "As Tim Drake, not Robin." The specifics of the attack stick in his throat. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and forces the rest of his throat. "It looks like someone came into his room while he was starting his first heat and raped him."

Tim curls into himself even more and whimpers as Dick so bluntly lays out the facts. He curses himself so being so callous, for not thinking about how to soften it for Tim. He can see the red stain at the seat of his pants and his heart thuds in terror as possible internal injuries start to roll through his mind, everything that could possibly be wrong with Tim pounding in his head.

There's a terrible moment of silence over the phone as Dick imagines Alfred setting the phone down to compose himself, unwilling to let either of his boy's hear him break down. It's over soon enough, and Alfred picks up the phone to whisper hoarsely into it, "I see. I will call Dr. Thompkins and inform Master Bruce. You just focus on getting Master Tim here as quickly as you can."

Dick nods, and then remembers that Alfred can't see him. "Okay," his voice cracking, and then he hangs up the phone quickly.

He blinks the tears out of his eyes. "How bad's the pain?" he asks Tim, praying that Tim can't hear his distress. He knows the poor kid is just going to be worried about him when the only person Tim should be focused on is himself.

"Am I dying?" his little brother, only fourteen years old, whispers.

"No," Dick growls. He feels the rut curling up in him, his temperature rising and his sight turning red at the edges. He doesn't want to admit how worried he is about the blood, about diseases. "I'm not going to let you die."

"I'm okay with it," Tim sobs.

"Well, I'm fucking not." His hand reaches over and cards through Tim's hair before he can even think. Tim flinches, the smell of a terrified omega flooding the car, and Dick stills.

He's a fucking cop and he didn't even think before touching the rape victim. He instantly begins to draw his hair back, but Tim yells out a scared "No!" Wide eyes look around wildly. "Don't go."

They're in a car together and there's nowhere he can go, but Dick knows exactly what Tim means. He keeps his hand in Tim's hair. "I'm not leaving, baby bird."

They get to the Manor quickly, Dick driving straight into the Batcave. He hasn't even stopped parking before Bruce is striding over to the car, and throwing open Tim's door. In a minute, Tim has collapsed into Bruce's arms and he strides over the medical center, settling Tim down on the medical exam table they have just for these situations. "What happened?" he barks at Dick, who's bounding after him, unwilling to take his eyes off Tim. The poor kid shivers in the cold of the Cave, and Bruce carefully wraps a blanket around him.

Dick shakes his head. "I don't-I don't know." He was trying to call _ Wally _ . God, how long would Tim have stayed in his bed if Dick hadn't misdialed? "He was raped and he's in heat, and _ fuck _, Bruce, I didn't realize what was wrong. What the hell is wrong with me? How could I not notice?"

"We'll discuss it later," Bruce responds gruffly as he gently brushes the hair away from Tim's face, making sure the blanket is covering him fully. "Alfred is getting Leslie now, Tim. We'll make sure that you're okay."

"How long?" Dick whispers.

"Fifteen minutes," Bruce replies. He has Tim fully tucked into the blanket and is rubbing his back while the tears continue to stream out of Tim. He's shaking his head at _ something _. "Hurts," he moans. "Get it out."

Oh God, Dick wants to throw up. Bruce looks exactly how he feels.

Dick forces himself to move and grips Tim's hand tightly. "He's not here, baby bird. It's over."

Tim shakes his head. "Still inside."

"What's still inside?" Bruce rumbles.

"Necklace," Tim whimpers. "Mother's pearls."

Dick's heart drops again. "Tim, are you telling me. . . .?"

Tim's face crumples and nods, and Dick actually does feel the bile creep up his throat before he forces it back down. Bruce takes a steady breath. "Tim, we should wait for Leslie."

"I want it out now." God, he sounds far too young. "_ Please _." His voice dissolves into sobs.

Dick and Bruce share a lost look. Bruce doesn't want to do this and Dick doesn't either, but Bruce nods. “I won’t make you do this,” he whispers to Dick, and then turns to Tim, "I'll do this as quick as possible, buddy, I swear." They carefully move Tim so his head is on Dick’s lap, Dick’s hand carding through his hair. Bruce grabs two latex gloves from the metal table that Bruce already had finished setting up before they had even gotten back. He puts them on, his hands only shaky slightly.

They carefully unwrap the blanket around Tim, and Bruce takes a deep breath before he carefully shifts down Tim's pajama pants and underwear. His pants are tacky with blood, cum, and slick, and Dick tries to keep his gaze on Tim's hip as while Bruce slowly enters his fingers into him. Tim's crying, and Dick’s wiping the tears from his eyes. Tim gasps when Bruce’s hand still, and Bruce nods slightly, telling Dick that he found that stupid, fucking necklace.

He pulls them out delicately, Tim's breathes jumping as each pearl comes out of him. It's a long necklace and Dick can't imagine how much agony Tim must be in, but he konws that Bruce doesn't want to hurt Tim more than he's already been hurt.

Finally, Bruce gets the blood-stained and slick-coated necklace out of Tim, the child’s entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. His father hurriedly drops the pearls in some old towel and throw them to the side and tears off his gloves. “Excuse me for a moment,” he says roughly, and turns to walk quickly to the bathroom. As soon as he enters, he hears the pounding of Bruce’s feet and the sound of vomiting.

Dick just focuses on wrapping Tim back up in the blanket. Neither of them say anything when he when Bruce sits down on the other side of Tim, and starts to rub his back, Tim’s breathing soft and jumpy as the tears continue to fall out of him.

That’s all Dick focuses on. “Alfred’s going to get here soon, buddy. He and Dr. Thompkins will make sure that you’re okay.”

He blinks up at Dick, eyes full of pain and misery. “Everything hurts,” he whispers through cracked lips.

Dick nods. “I know, baby. But you’re strong. You’ll survive this.”

Tim blinks slowly, and then presses his face into Dick’s leg. “I don’t think so,” he whimpers.

Dick has to take more than a few deep breaths to push down his rage, until it can be unleashed towards the rightful person. He notices Bruce doing the same thing out of the corner of his eye.

The door to the Batcave opens and a car rolls in, Alfred and Leslie running out of it, both frazzled and their eyes catching on Tim. Bruce gets up and moves towards Alfred while Leslie walks towards them. She’s all cool professionalism, but Dick can see how her heart breaks when she takes in the state that Tim is in.

"Alfred informed me of what happened," she said curtly to Dick, but her voice is softer when she turns to look at Tim. 

"Tim." Tim tilts his head slightly towards her, but other than that doesn't give any indication that he heard her. She doesn't act bothered by it. "We need to move you so that I can check to make sure everything is okay. I need to rearrange you on this table."

Tim looks up at Dick, who nods as he attempts not to cry. Fuck, this poor kid. He just looks down and shrugs, the only sound he makes is whimpers while Dick stands up to help move Tim out of the burrito that he had arranged him in earlier, putting his feet in stirrups so Leslie can move between his legs and get started on his rape kit.

Tim’s breathing gets heavier and more panicking the minute she touches him, and Dick wants more than anything to yell at her to stop. It's only Bruce's heavy stare and the knowledge that this has to be done for Tim’s health that stops him. But his legs try to instinctively close, and he reaches out blindly for Dick, squeezing his hand tight, but refusing to open his legs until they gotten Tim arranged so he’s laying against Dick’s chest, Dick’s arms wrapped him because Dick can’t let him go again. It’s not the best position, but Leslie doesn’t say anything.

Tim is light and tiny in his arms, and Dick hates how someone could hurt him like this. He doesn’t _ understand _ it. He’s seen a lot as a cop and a hero, and he can’t help but think that Tim’s one of the worst cases that he’s ever seen in his life. 

Tim jumps when Leslie moves from her external examination to the internal, his breath turning to high wines as he tilts his head back and tries to nose Dick’s neck, to find the source of the smell that is making him feel safe. Dick tightens his grip, and before he can even think, he starts to hum. He’s terrible musically, his hum off-key by several of them, but it’s an old song that he remembers his mother humming whenever he was sick, and it manages to relax Tim, his breathing coming down to something that sounds regular.

Time passes strangely, and it seems like forever and in no time at all before Leslie whispers that she’s done, peeling off latex gloves and shoving them into the trash. She squeezes Tim’s knee gently, and then moves over to talk to Bruce and Alfred. Dick doesn’t bother to watch her go, his attention solely on Tim.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Do you want to get cleaned up?”

Tim nods slowly, clearly exhausted and done with everything that’s happened to him. “Dick?” he whispers.

“Yeah, baby bird?”

“I don’t want to be alone.” Tim’s face starts to crumble, tears beginning to fall again. “I’m scared.”

Dick lets out a shuddering breath. He wants to find this monster who hurt his little brother and choke the fucking life out of him, make him fucking regret the day that he laid eyes on Tim Drake and decided to make one of the bravest people that Dick knows scared to be alone.

But like _ hell _ is he going to leave Tim like this.

It’s easy enough to bundle Tim in his arms again as Dick starts to walk back to his room. Tim can sleep in there tonight, surrounded by Dick’s scent so that way he knows that Dick is there, that he’s always going to be there to protect him. He can clean Tim up in his bathtub, give Tim his clothes to wear so that way he feels safe with the scent. 

Dick holds Tim close to him, tries to take a steadying breath when all he sees is red. He feels a rut coming on. It's only because Tim whimpers that he manages to pull himself out of it.

He won't do anything to hurt him.

His hands are shaking the entire way there, as he places Tim on the toilet seat so he can turn on the water. "How hot?" he asks.

"Hot as it can be," Tim whispers and Dick obeys.

He pulls the blanket away from Tim as the tub fills up, steaming up the bathroom. He strips Tim down, taking off the stained pajamas and underwear until he’s sitting naked before him, shivering and small. The smell of an omega in heat and distress is starting to overpower the bathroom, but that’s why Dick stays. He has to.

He carefully picks Tim up again and places him in the bathtub, the water hot. Tim's eyes flutter close as he leans back. The grime on his body is already starting to tint the water, but Dick doesn't make a move.

Tim clearly needs a minute to breathe.

He just brushes away the dark hair that's sticking to his forehead, and his thumb rubs against Tim's cheekbone to bring a small amount of comfort to the poor kid. Eventually, Tim opens his eyes hazily to look at Dick. He nods once, and Dick knows he has permission to clean Tim up, to make him feel safe again.

If that’s ever going to be truly possible. 

He makes it quick. He tries to block out what the red and white on Tim's thighs actually is. He just gets it all off, the tub drained, and Tim wrapped in a towel while Dick hunts for clothes that Tim can wear within thirty minutes, wanting Tim safe in his arms as soon as he possibly can.

He gets his little brother in two pairs of his boxers to soak up the slick, sweatpants and a T-Shirt and a sweatshirt and fuzzy socks. Tim lets Dick move and dress him and lets Dick get him underneath the covers. He curls up into a small ball while Dick changes into his own sleepwear, and lets him pull the younger boy close to him until he's essentially laying on top of Dick, his face nestled into Dick's neck, his tears branding Dick's skin while he falls into an uneasy sleep.

Dick himself doesn't sleep a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is laregely unbetaed, so if you noticed any SPAG errors or moments that just didn't make sense, please let me know as I would love to fix them. The first part was betaed by HotGoatCheese however, so many thanks to them!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic just wouldn't leave my mind, especially with all your kind comments. A couple things I want to clarify however, a chance for to "jump ship" if you will before you really get invested, and about things I can say with absolute certainty because of how future plot truly depends on these aspects.
> 
> *Please note the mpreg tag, it's not for show, Tim will be having a child in this fic. The main plot of this fic is actually him coming to terms with that fact, and figuring out what it means to be a teen parent, while still having Bruce, Dick, and Alfred in his corner.  
*When Jason arrives in this fic, he will be an omega. If you absolutely cannot stand omega!Jason, then I'm really sorry, but that's the plan. I just don't want to tag for something that isn't going to happen for _quite_ a few chapters. If you want to know dynamics for other characters that could make it or break it for you (or just out of general curiosity), I really don't mind and I don't judge. Ask away! Jason's just the only character that I feel a statement about it is necessary at this point in time.

Bruce trudges up the stairs leading up towards the Manor. Alfred is taking Leslie back to her clinic, and he could tell the two of them needed some time alone to process what had happened to Tim. Especially Alfred, he never liked to break down in front of Bruce.

There is a part of Bruce that needs Alfred back, that needs his father with him as he tries to comprehend the sheer horror that someone did to his son, a _ child _.

It doesn’t matter that Bruce has no legal or biological connection to Tim, that boy with his bright smile and quick mind had carved himself a place in Bruce’s heart right next to Dick and Jason’s.

And now his son is an omega who was raped in his first heat, by some _ monster _ who crept into Tim’s bedroom while he slept.

God, how is Tim going to trust his own bed ever again?

He walks through the house, feeling so much older than thirty-five as he walks towards Dick's room. He knows his eldest. Dick would have bundled up Tim and taken him to his room to protect as soon as they left the Cave.

Bruce gets to Dick’s room, and upon opening the door, he finds Tim in an uneasy sleep, being held tightly by Dick while he virtually uses him as a pillow. The alpha is staring angrily at the wallpaper.

Bruce knows exactly how he feels.

He clears his throat loud enough to let Dick know he’s here, but soft enough that it won’t disturb Tim. Still, it pulls a small noise out of his youngest that causes Dick to instantly tighten his grip and whisper soft words while he turns the glare on Bruce.

“What?” he hisses.

Bruce opens his mouth, but he isn’t sure of what to say. It’s useless to ask if Tim’s okay, because Bruce knows that answer is a resounding no. There’s no way in hell Tim is okay right now.

He remembers pulling the string of pearls out of Tim and he wants to throw up all over again.

He pushes down the bile and steps into Dick’s room. He walks over to his bed, and sits down at the edge, turning his body to stare at his children. Tim’s face has a thin shine of sweat on it, making his long hair stick to his face, and Bruce can smell the heat mixed with a healthy dose of terror. There’s a soft edge of safety on the edges, something that gets a little stronger when Tim shifts to nuzzle his nose in Dick’s neck in his sleep.

“He needs you,” Bruce whispers. “You can’t leave him.”

“Like hell I am,” Dick growls.

Bruce shakes his head. “I don’t mean now. I mean, you can’t just leave in a week or a month from now and expect that Tim won’t need you.” It might be unfair to Dick right now, but honestly Bruce doesn’t give a damn. Tim’s going to need Dick for much longer than just the duration of this heat, and Bruce won’t let Tim be abandoned and hurt, not again. He’s going to keep his son safe.

“Jesus _ Christ _, Bruce.” Dick is almost snarling right now, anger clouding his scent. It causes Tim to flinch, and Dick forces himself to take some deep breaths before he presses his lips to Tim’s hair as the anger clears. “I’m not going to just fucking abandon Tim, no matter what. I’m a fucking cop, I know he’s not going to get over this quickly.”

His tongue feels heavy and Bruce knows he’s not saying this correctly. That in fact, he’s saying this all wrong. But he doesn’t know what’s right here.

He lays down on the bed. Dick doesn’t say anything, which Bruce takes as permission enough. Bruce rests a hand on Tim's back, and, when Tim doesn't flinch or whimper or do anything that indicates he wants Bruce away, inches closer to slung his arm around Tim's back and to wrap his hand around Tim's wrist so Bruce can feel Tim's steady pulse.

Whatever else has happened, Tim is still alive.

He hasn't lost another son.

He lets his other arm curl over his sons heads, and lays his head down next to Tim's, staring at the inky black hair.

"How could someone do this?" Dick whispers.

Bruce sighs heavily. He wants to be able to explain it to Dick, but he knows that he can't. He will never be able to understand how someone could hurt a child this way.

"I don't know," Bruce replies 

They're silent for the rest of the night, and somehow Bruce manages to fall asleep.

***

Tim wakes up aware that _ someone _ is behind him and freezes. He distantly hears a high whine coming from somewhere around him, the sound of a terrified omega calling out for safety. He feels like he should go save them, but he can't make his muscles move, and then he realizes it's _ him _.

"Jesus Christ, Bruce, _ move _."

The person is gone and someone else (_ Dick _ ) is wiping away his tears and pulling him into a sitting position in their lap. He's tucked underneath a chin while strong arms engulf him and he's rocked as he buries his face in a broad chest while he begins to sob. A big hand is in his hair, massaging his scalp, and Tim becomes aware of just how much of his body _ hurts _.

He wants to stop crying. He wants to stop making that noise. But he can't do it. He just stays wrapped up in Dick's arms until his face and throat are sore, until he can't produce any more tears and the noise has died into small whimpers.

He cracks open his eyes to see a devastated Bruce in front of him. "God, Tim," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

Bruce. Bruce was holding him. Bruce was the person behind him.

Tim's face burns in shame as he thinks about how utterly wrong he got this. He shakes his head. "My fault," he says through cracked lips. "Should have known."

Bruce shakes his own head. "No, Tim. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have thought about what it would be like for you to wake up like that."

Tim stares down at Dick's blue sheets. He doesn't know how to respond to that.

Dick's hand is still in his hair, slowly scratching Tim's head. It feels nice. It's the one thing in the world that does. Everything else is just a radiating block of pain. Especially the lower half of his body. It's humiliating to think about, but everything about his ass and thighs hurt in throbbing discomfort, and Tim can swear that he can still feel the phantom pains of The Man behind him.

He whimpers and nuzzles his face in Dick's chest, bringing his legs in closer to himself and tries to fit as much of his body against Dick as he possibly can. He's glad he's small right now, he can actually do it. Dick just readjusts so he can hold Tim better.

His mind's a haze, and it hits him that he's still in heat. He can feel something on his thigh.

Slick.

He wants to tear himself out of his own body. He doesn't want to exist in it anymore. He doesn't want to be in this heat, he doesn't want to be in _ any _ heat. The slick is making his thighs stick to the fabric of the first pair of boxers that Dick had slid on him. He’s feeling overly warm, but the smell of _ Dick _ coming from these clothes means that he never wants to take them off. At the same time, he’s desperate for another bath, to scrub off the filth that’s all over him.

He doesn’t know what he wants, except that it feels like he wants everything and nothing at once. The only thing that feels steady and true is Dick’s hold. His eyes flutter close as he grips Dick’s shirt. He’s not tired. He can’t fall asleep. He just wants to go away.

Dick keeps on scratching his head, and then Tim feels a light pressure of Bruce’s hand on his knee. He doesn’t know how long they all stay like this, but when he feels a slow trickle of more slick coming out of him, he manages to mutter in Dick’s chest, “Can I take a bath?”

“Yeah,” Dick whispers hoarsely. “Of course.” He moves, and Bruce does as well, so Dick can stand and carry Tim to the bathroom, arms strong under his knees and around his back. Tim vaguely thinks of asking Dick to put him down, but he decides against it. He doubts that he could walk, and besides, he doesn’t want to leave Dick’s arms now anyway. “You just have to let me know.”

He sets Tim on the closed toilet seat while he turns on the bath, and with a pang, Tim looks at his big brother. There’s circles under his eyes, hair a mess around his face, face pinched with grief and anger, and the scent rolling off him almost scaring Tim in its ferocity by just how much protection towards _ him _ is wrapped up in it. But it can’t scare him, not when it makes him feel so utterly safe.

He still doesn’t want to get undressed in Dick. He doesn't want to be naked in front of anyone ever again. He's sitting on the toilet, watching the bathtub fill up, unable to make his muscles move so he can get into the bath that he desperately needs.

Luckily, Dick realizes. "I'll be right outside," he tells him as he turns off the tub and walks out of the bathroom, leaving Tim sitting there alone (except how can he really ever be certain? That's what he thought _ before _).

He slowly takes off the clothes Dick had put him in, and then manages to maneuver himself so he's able to climb in the bathtub with minimal wincing and whimpering.

He sinks down into blistering water with a relaxed sigh. It's almost painful and it's exactly how he likes it. He tries to catalog his injuries, just like Bruce taught him too.

Significant bruising on his thighs and ass. Bruises in the shape of mottled hands on his hips. He licks his lips and winces as he catches upon the healing bite marks on the bottom lip. He feels the phantom pain of the knife on his neck. Tim squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to control his breathing, but has to open them when he can feel The Man behind him.

He doesn’t want Dick to be here while he’s naked, but he can’t be away from him. He doesn’t feel safe here in this bathtub, with no one else around. He can only feel safe in Dick’s arms, with Dick’s petting his hair and kissing his forehead and making touch something that isn’t scary.

The bathtub is still steaming hot, but Tim just feels lost and cold. His eyes want to cry again, but nothing is coming out. He's all cried out.

He thinks about dunking his head underneath the water and refusing to come up for air. He knows how long it would take for him to drown, but he can't remember it right now. His heart breaks as he thinks about the fact that this might be another thing the man took from him.

His mind, his safety, his bravery, his independence, his vir-

His virginity.

Tim had sex last night and he couldn't do anything to stop it. All he could do was take it, like the pathetic little bitch he is.

Bruce is never going to want him to be Robin now, not when he's seen him like this.

Tim shakes his head. He doesn't want to go down that train of thought, not until Bruce actually tells him face to face. He just . . . he just can't take it. He forces himself to sit back up, and he grabs the body wash and the washcloth. The body wash is some smell called "Arctic Frost" and Tim knows that Dick only got it because of the wolf on the front. Tim caps it open and takes a deep breath. The smell is one that he recognizes as intermingling in Dick's smell, and it instantly relaxes him. He pours on a more than healthy amount on the washcloth, and sets to work in scrubbing his skin, praying that the grimy feeling will soon leave him.

It doesn't.

Not even until his skin is red and raw all over his body. His body has started producing slick again because it somehow didn't get the memo that Tim couldn't deal with a heat at this moment, and it's trying to prepare him for another round that's never going to happen, because Tim can't imagine ever wanting someone to press themselves inside him ever again. The _ thought _ of it makes his blood freeze.

And it turns out that he did have more tears shed, because he's started sobbing again. Forceful, choking sobs are coming out of his body, and he's all alone and he doesn't want to be. He calls out for Dick, not caring about his nakedness, not caring about anything relating to that at all, just want to be held by his big brother and to feel safe again, because it's only been twenty minutes and Tim is sick of not feeling it anymore.

He can barely force the name out, but Dick must have been waiting by the door because as soon as he says it, Dick is barreling through the door, pulling Tim close to him so Tim can sob on his shoulder, wrap his arms around Tim's body even though Dick is now getting all wet.

But he doesn't care, he just holds Tim until he’s all cried out. He wipes away the tears and snot, washes his face and his hair. Tim feels like a child, but he doesn't care because now Dick is here and now he's safe. He lets Dick take care of him, he lets him dry him off again and go searching for clothes while Tim sits back on the toilet.

He considers it an accomplishment that he can actually partially dress himself, but he needs to lean on Dick for some of these and when it comes to his socks, he lets Dick take care of that because the thought of bending over to put them on suddenly feels like the most Sisyphean task of all time.

He clings to Dick as Dick takes him back to the bedroom. The sheets have been changed, and Tim sighs as he slides between the cool sheets and the warm blankets burrowing himself in them as Dick hands him pain meds to take.

"Alfred wanted to know when you were out of the tub," Dick says softly. "He's making chicken noodle soup."

It sounds delicious, and Tim's stomach involuntarily growls. Dick smiles softly at that, and Tim is glad that he can still look happy. He almost thought he took that away.

"Alright," Dick says next, grabbing the remote. "What do you want to watch?"

Tim blinks. "Parks and Rec," he finally whispers. It's his favorite show.

"Oh, I've heard that's a good show," Dick mumbles, ignoring Tim's affronted stare that Dick hasn't actually seen it. He still turns on Netflix and moves to the show. "What episode?"

"Start from the beginning," Tim moves over so Dick can lay down and curl around Tim, protecting him from literally every bad thing in the world. "You're watching this entire thing."

***

Dick hadn’t been able to sleep at all last night, not even when Bruce came in and for the first time that Dick can recall in years, held one of his sons. Of course, Tim isn’t technically Bruce’s son just like he technically isn’t Dick’s brother, but the semantics be damned, Tim is a member of the Wayne family through and through.

Even though Bruce fucked it up by sending Tim into a panic attack by curling around the kid’s back and making the kid think that his rapist had come back.

The rapist that Dick would dearly love to get his hands on.

But in the daytime, the curtains letting in the soft gray light of an early May morning and Tim breathing steadily in his arms as he focuses on the antics of Pawnee, Indiana, Dick finds himself able to lightly doze. He slips in and out of conscious, jerking himself awake every so often just so he can make sure that Tim is safe in his arms, even though the younger boy has not moved an inch, content to stay.

It dawns vaguely on Dick that Tim seems to be okay that Dick’s at his back, and he wonders why that is. Possibly because Tim’s awake and aware of it, but he wonders if perhaps it’s him.

He wonders what that means.

But he’s existing on very few hours of sleep, and he can’t wonder about it much longer as he gets pulled deeper and deeper into sleep, his body and mind finally realizing he can rest now.

But that doesn’t mean peaceful rest.

_ Dick is running up the stairs, his heart pounding as he remembers Tim's sobs in his ear over the phone. Someone had hurt Tim. There's no way that his little brother would be crying if he wasn't in total pain. He had seen Tim merely wince and whimper once while getting a dislocated shoulder put back. Something that made him sob like _ that? _ Dick had to go save him. _

_ He bursts into Tim's room to see Tim lying in his bed, bruises in the shape of hands on hips, blood on the seat of his pants, smelling like heat and cum and terror and it's too clear what had happened to him. _

_ But unlike the first time this happened, Tim isn't sobbing in the bed, thankfully alive. No, Tim is broken and bloody, a crowbar lying near him, and he's dead, dead just like Jason, Dick couldn't save another little brother, this is all his fault, he can't- he can't- _

He wakes up with a scream in his throat, holding Tim close to him, who's staring at him with wide eyes and breathing heavily. "Dick?" Tim whispers.

Dick looks at Tim, ragged breaths pulled from his own throat. Tim’s alive and next to him, but Dick has to make sure. The next thing he knows, his hands on Tim’s face as he moves his head this way and that, making sure everything is alright.

And that’s when he sees the small line on Tim’s throat, pink and thin and deliberate.

He freezes, and his eyes flick up to meet Tim's, but the boy refuses them. "Tim," he breathes out. "What _ happened _?"

Tim takes a deep, shuddering breath. "He . . . he put a knife on my throat. And he told me he would . . . he would. . . ."

Tim shakes his head, and purses his mouth. Tears gather in his eyes once again, and that's the final straw.

Dick sees red, and the rut overtakes him.

He grabs Tim and bundles him into his arms. He's growling as all his mind can think is to _ protect _ his little brother. He buries his face into the hair that smells like Dick's shampoo and tightens his grip as he notes that Tim smells more like him, that he's wearing Dick's clothes. 

No one is _ ever _ going to hurt him again.

He will kill them.

Deep in his bones, he knows that if he ever saw the man who raped Tim, he will kill them.

Not even Bruce can stop him.

***

Tim thinks he should be scared.

Dick is growling and holding Tim completely in his lap, and he can smell the rut coming off him.

But this is safety. This is the one alpha in the world that Tim can trust. It was only when Dick saw the knife on his neck that he started acting like this.

He's going to protect Tim.

Tim doesn't know how long Dick holds him before Bruce comes in. Dick somehow manages to tighten his grip on Tim even more, and snaps his head up from where it rested on Tim's head. He growls low and steady, and Bruce throws his hands up, hunches his shoulders, and bends his head.

"Dick," Tim whispers. "It's okay. Just Bruce."

Dick just keeps growling.

"Dick," Bruce says slowly. "I'm not going to hurt Tim. I just want to talk to him."

Dick doesn't loosen his grip at all.

The older alpha sighs. "How long has he been like this?"

Tim flushes in shame. He . . . he has no idea. It just felt so _nice_ to be in Dick's strong arms.

Bruce smiles softly at him. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? Tim has never heard Bruce use an endearment towards him or Dick, but . . . he should care, right? Just like he should be scared of Dick. And they’re only treating him like this because he’s an omega.

But Tim wants it. He buries his face into Dick’s neck again, and takes a deep breath. He’s okay with being coddled, if it ensures that he never has to leave these arms.

It must set something off in Dick, because Tim just grips him tighter, hands digging into his brother’s biceps, as Dick moves fluidly off the bed, and pads over to Bruce. Tim’s moved into his fa- into Bruce’s arms, and then Dick turns back to the bed. There’s a low grumbling as he gets to work building the . . . nest?

Dick honestly feels that protective over him that he wants to build Tim a nest? They’re a common thing for alphas to do in rut, but still. . . .

His brother is trying so hard to tuck blankets in, placing his own clothes in random areas of the bed. He keeps looking at Tim and Bruce, and then rearranging something on the bed.

Eventually he seems to be happy enough with the bed, and then walks back over to Bruce, carefully taking Tim back. Tim feels the low rumble in his chest before Dick carefully arranges Tim against the blankets. Dick curls himself around Tim, closing his eyes. Tim spends a moment staring at him before taking a deep breath and turning to look at Bruce.

“Bruce?” he whispers. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bruce says. “He just loves you.”

Tim blinks and looks down at his hands. Dick has one arm slung around Tim’s side, curling in to grasp both of Tim’s hand in just one of his. The other arm is slung right above Tim’s head, curling around it so Tim is looking at it. Dick’s rumbling against his back, nosing the top of Tim’s head.

Tim takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes as a wave of all-consuming love hits him.

Dick loves him.

For the first time in his life, Tim knows what it means to smell an alpha who loves him, something he never got from his parents.

His eyes flick back to Bruce, still watching them.

Two alphas.

Bruce edges close to Tim, and when Dick doesn't leap up snarling, he pulls a chair close and sits down. "Have to ask you some questions," he says softly. He doesn't say what for. Tim already knows.

"I don't remember," he whispers, and he's praying that Bruce won't ask him to remember more. He doesn't want to go back to that place. Dick growls behind him and tightens his grip.

"Nothing?" Bruce asks.

Tim shakes his head. "He smelled bad." He takes a shaky breath. "And he felt _ dirty _."

He doesn't want to talk about this anymore, he feels his entire body beginning to shake, and Dick is turning him around so Tim can nose underneath his neck, inhale the comforting scent of his brother. He feels Bruce's hands in his hair as he slowly falls back to sleep.

***

Bruce is at the Drake home, standing before the empty bedroom. Alfred is at home, watching over Dick, still in a rut that makes his singular focus holding and protecting Tim. He was starting to come out of it when Bruce was heading down to the Cave, but considering Tim was still sleeping in his arms, he still kept his arms tight and his nose buried in the hair. 

The poor kid was clearly exhausted, and Bruce was glad of it in a small way. If Tim could sleep through his heat so he didn't have to deal with what Bruce assumed was a constant state of panic and trigger, the better.

Tim's mental health absolutely had to come first, and Bruce wanted him to take the lead. He assumed that Tim would want a break from being Robin while he dealt with this trauma, and Bruce supported him in that endeavor even if that took years. 

Robin would be waiting for him.

Bruce had inspected the entirety of the house, saving (avoiding) this room as the very last thing to do. He had found the broken window that the man had snuck in through, had found evidence of missing small objects throughout the house, Janet Drake's jewelry box looked fairly empty and Bruce had a suspicion that not everything had been taken on a trip.

At least one pearl necklace hadn't been.

Bruce had no idea how Alfred was cleaning that thing, and he didn't want to know. Memories of another one, falling onto a dirty alleyway ground try to flash through his mind as he attempts to beat it back.

He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to walk into the room where his son was raped.

But he had too. If he wanted to ensure that Tim has justice, he would man up and walk into this room and get the evidence he needed to ensure that the man would spend the rest of his life in jail cell.

He could do this.

He takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.

His eyes go straight to the bed, blood and a white substance right in the middle of it and it takes everything in Bruce not to vomit up at the sight of it. He shuts down the part of his mind that is Bruce Wayne, grieving father, and makes himself Batman.

But Batman's a grieving father as well.

Tim is Robin and Robin is Tim and someone hurt him and Bruce wasn't there to stop it.

He should have been there.

He collects the evidence, the DNA that will help determine the identity of this man. He searches the room for clues. Tim doesn't want to talk about it, at least with him, and Dick is no place to be questioned about anything he might have seen or about anything that Tim might have told him. He takes pictures, stomach dropping as he imagines having to force his sons back to that awful night through these images, but knowing he might have to.

He couldn't leave this room standing while the evidence was at least semi-fresh. He prays this will be enough.

He knows the room will have to be cleaned before the Drake's come home, but he can come over another time to do that.

Should he tell the Drake's? What if Tim doesn't want to tell them? Should he have gone to the police? The hospital? Leslie had snitched Tim up, and Bruce is running tests for all possible diseases, and some of them like HIV will need to be run again in a few months and _ Christ _, there is so much to do-

His cowl is off, and he's gulping for breath like a dying fish. His pulse is sky-rocketing. He's having his first panic attack in years. He somehow ended up out of that room, and is leaning against the hallway wall.

His comm crackles to life, and he’s confused before Babs's voice comes across it.

"Can you catch him?" she snaps, and Bruce takes a deep breath.

"N told you." he pushes past dry lips.

"Agent A actually," she responds, and then forces herself to take her own deep breath. "Who the fuck did this to a _ child _?" She's growling at the last word, the alpha clear in her voice. Bruce knows the feeling well.

"I will catch him," he states. "You have my word."

Silence, and then, "I know. And I'm going to help."

He never had a doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hoped you enjoyed! I have to thank Specialist, Silver_Snow_77, and MyosotisTageteserecta for betaing this for me in parts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments! And big thanks to Myosotis for reading through this chapter!

Bruce drives home, exhaustion creeping into every muscle in his body. He hears Oracle's typing in his ear, her determination to find and destroy Tim's rapist clear in every keystroke.

It isn't until he's five minutes away from the Manor that she stops, and Bruce, noticing the absence of the sound, automatically slows down.

"B," she says, her voice rough over the coms. "You know if you want to take this man in alive, you can't take N with you."

Bruce purses his lips. He knows. He hates it. He doesn't want to think of a boy he raised doing something as drastic as killing, even though there's a dark and shameful part of Bruce that _ wants _ to let Dick on Tim's rapist and never look back.

But he's Batman, and he means a lot of things. One of them is life.

"Yes," he grits out, anger coursing through his veins towards himself, towards Dick, towards Babs, towards the whole world that could let something so cruel happen to such a sweet boy. "I'm aware." He stops as a small thought niggles its way through his mind. "Will you help him?"

A moment of silence, and then: "I won't stop him."

Bruce sighs deeply with frustration, but doesn't push it. He doesn't have the energy tonight, and he knows that statement is as good as he's going to get. Babs is just like her father, stubborn as can possibly be.

"How is he?" she asks next, her voice soft. "Agent A told me that N is taking care of him, but that he's. . . ."

"He's traumatized," Bruce says bluntly. "And he doesn't know how to process the fact that he's an omega yet. At least, I don't think he does."

It's hard to determine which is trauma and shock with his son right now, and Bruce can't read him enough to determine it.

"This is the worst presentation in the world," Babs breathes out, and Bruce nods despite not knowing if she has eyes on him or not.

The secret entrance for the Manor comes into view, and Bruce quickly drives inside. "I'll talk to you later," he tells her.

"Alright," she says. "And B?"

"Yes."

"Tell me when the kid is ready for me to come over and play some games. Just . . . something to give him a little bit of normalcy."

Bruce can't stop the smile as his surrogate niece demands to help his son. "I will."

"And tell me when you realize that you need to be with Rob, and I'll call Batwoman and get her active again."

"O," Bruce starts, but she interrupts him. "Don't 'O' me. For once, the other guy is needed more than Batman. Suck it up and let others help you and _ be _ there for your kid."

Bruce knows that arguing her is a losing battle, and . . . it doesn't sound like the worst idea in the world. "Call her. Ask her to come over tomorrow. And you come over too."

He can hear the smile. "Of course."

She shut downs the coms just as he enters the Cave, parking before he notices Dick sitting in front of the computer. His body is tense, but otherwise impossible to read. Dick has always been the most opaque of his children. Jason was easy to read, and he's a fast learner with Tim. But Dick? Dick has always been a mystery.

He steps out of the Batmobile and begins shucking off his costume as he waits for Dick to begin. He knows that Tim is getting fed by Alfred, because his son wouldn't leave his brother alone right now.

Finally, Dick begins. "How soon will we be able to find this bastard?" he growls out.

Bruce sighs. "I don't know. We have genetic evidence. But from there, I don't know how hard it will be to find and put this man on trial. But we _ will _ do it."

Dick nods, face impassive, but twitching from something that Bruce knows is anger.

"Woke up screaming again," Dick says stiffly. "Nearly went back into rut again."

Bruce can see that. Stopping Dick from living in a state of rut is something he's going to have to work on.

"How's he doing now?" Bruce asks carefully. He is the older alpha here, and Alfred is even older, but in this situation, Dick is clearly the head alpha. They bow to him.

"Eating," Dick responds. "Alfred's glad. Tim isn't very hungry, but he knows he needs to eat something and Alfred is helping him with that."

Bruce nods. "Mentally?"

Dick's face stills its twitching, and that doesn't make Bruce feel better.

He's even angrier now.

"Scared out of his mind," Dick grits out. "I honestly don't know how he's going to sleep alone. I went out to the hall to talk to Alfred and the kid had a panic attack over being alone in a room. Someone needs to stay with him."

"That won't be hard," Bruce states. "Not a single one of us wants to let Tim be alone."

A heavy sigh escapes Dick, and for the first time, Bruce can read him when his entire body deflates and he leans back in the chair, his entire body slumping with exhaustion.

"He's about halfway through his heat by my guess," Dick mutters. "It's hard to gauge, I'm not. . . ."

"With an abused, traumatized young omega with sex being the furthest thing from his mind," Bruce cuts. Dick shrugs, and manages something approximate to a sheepish smile when he sees Bruce's raised eyebrow. "I help omegas through heats," he says. "In ways that they absolutely love."

Bruce can list the omegas. Kori. Wally. Garth. Kara. Kyle. Those are the ones he knows about. He's sure there's many more he doesn't.

But he doubts that Dick has ever spent a heat like this with them.

“Dick,” Bruce says, walking over to him and squeezing his shoulder. “I want you to know how proud I am of you.”

Dick blinks at him in surprise. “What?”

Bruce nods. “I mean it. You’ve done more for Tim than I would have been able to. You're taking such amazing care of him."

Dick takes a deep breath. Then another. And then one more. And then they turn into thick, gulping sobs, his son's heart breaking over what happened to his brother and without thinking about it, Bruce gathers Dick into his arms, Dick's forehead resting on Bruce's shoulder as his tears patter onto the Kevlar Batsuit. Dick's strong arms wrapped around Bruce's midsection, squeezing him so tight that Bruce feels like he can hardly breathe. "Just a fucking kid," he mutters. "And I don't know what to do."

Bruce raises a gauntleted hand to thread through Dick's hair as he holds him close, and bends down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "You're doing it, Dick," he whispers. "You're there."

"But it's my fault," Dick forces out through his sobs. "I should . . . I should have known that he was starting his first heat and stayed with him or brought him here. I should have done _ something _ that wasn't leaving him."

Bruce takes a deep breath. "We have scentblockers for this reason, Dick, and most omegas have presented by thirteen. You had no reason to think a fourteen year old, almost fifteen, would be presenting as an omega when you couldn't smell him."

Dick shakes his head. "Still . . . still should have known."

Bruce swallows past the lump in his throat. "Dick, it's not your fault."

_ It's mine._

"How long would he have stayed there if I hadn't misdialed?" Dick whispers. "I didn't even realize that I pressed Tim instead of Wally until he picked up."

"Dick, he would have called one of us eventually. He would have needed to." Bruce pushes down the terrible question that Tim, as stubborn and insecure as he is, might not have. Dick just keeps sobbing.

"I want him to feel safe," Dick gets out. "But how the hell is he going to feel like that _ ever _ again?"

"Oh, _ Dickie_," Bruce breathes out the childhood nickname before he can stop himself. "_You're _ making him feel safe."

"But-"

"You might not be able to see it," Bruce says, "but I can. You're radiating safety for Tim, and he's latching on. You're helping him just by being you, Dick. By being the incredible and strong man you are, you're helping your little brother. There's nothing more you can or should do other than that."

Dick still lets out a few choking sobs, but doesn't say anything else. Bruce just tightens his hold on his son, and lets him cry it out. He knows that Tim needs to come first right now, and that Tim needs to see them as being strong. But he can be here for his other son and his grief.

It takes Dick a good twenty minutes to finish crying, and then he just stays in Bruce's arms, clinging to him and sniffling for another five. Eventually, he pulls back, and Bruce's arms feel cold at the loss of his son from them. Dick wipes at his tear-splotched face, and looks at the stairs. Bruce watches closely for any trepidation or fear, any sign this is too much for Dick, but all he sees in his son's eyes is determination and love.

"Okay," he whispers. "I can do this." He looks at Bruce. "Tim needs me to do this." Bruce nods. Dick most definitely can, but. . . .

Bruce rests a hand on his shoulder. "Go take a nap in my bedroom. I'll go relieve Alfred and stay with Tim while you both get some rest." Energy is thrumming under his skin and he wants his son in his arms now. Wants to hold Tim close as he did earlier when Dick was in rut and building a nest. He wants to make sure his son as safe.

Dick hesitates, but Bruce pushes. "Go," he whispers. "I'll take a quick shower and be up in twenty. We'll be okay." There's still the dislike of leaving him, but Bruce stops it when he pulls out the trump card of, "Dick, you can't be there for Tim if you don't get some rest." He pushes it a little farther with, "You don't want to have another nightmare with him around." He ignores the pang of guilt at Dick's flinch, just glad to see Dick finally nodding. He watches Dick trudge up the stairs before he turns to go to the Cave showers.

*

He's up in seventeen, walking quickly to Tim's room. He only stops to take a quick peek into his own room, glad to see Dick sprawled and snoring under the covers. He moves on to Dick's room, where he sees a silent Tim watching more _ Parks & Rec _ while Alfred sits in a chair next to him. Alfred is clearly trying to fight off sleep, but he perks up when he sees Bruce.

“Master Bruce,” he whispers hoarsely. Tim moves his head to look at Bruce. He can see the dark circles under his eyes, and Tim is hardly moving his lower body. The soft scent of heat is coming off him, and Bruce can tell that his son is in a great deal of pain.

“Go to bed, Alfred,” he tells him, eyes focused on Tim. “I can stay.”

Tim’s eyes flicker to Alfred and he nods. Bruce hears Alfred get up and move, but all he does is sit down on the edge of Tim’s bed. The young boy moves over and lays down, looking up at Bruce. “You can lie down,” he whispers.

“It won’t trigger you?” Bruce frowns, remembering Tim’s panic attack yesterday.

Tim shakes his head. “I’ll know it’s you.”

Bruce nods. He slowly lies down on his back, getting underneath the covers. He doesn’t touch Tim, but it's only a minute before Tim edges close to him and lies his head down on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce loops an arm around Tim’s back and pulls him closer, Tim curling up in Bruce’s grip, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispers. _ I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry that you had to pay the price for my mistakes. I’m sorry that the only thing I can reliably do as a father is let down my sons when they need me the most. _

“It’s not your fault,” Tim mumbles, for a moment sounding almost exactly like Jason, and the poor boy doesn’t even realize how wrong he is. "You didn't do this to me."

No, he just let Tim go home alone.

"I'm tired," Tim mumbles. "Can we just sleep?"

Bruce nods. "Of course." He grabs the remote and stops the show, then turning off the TV. It forces the room into darkness, the only thing in Bruce's awareness is Tim's slight and warm presence next to him.

He can feel Tim's warm breath on his skin, and it slowly becomes more even as he falls asleep.

Bruce isn't far behind.

*

He wakes up feeling that someone is watching him. His eyes fly open, but he makes sure not to disturb Tim, who's still sleeping soundly. He turns his head to see. . . .

Kate.

He frowns at her, for a moment, unsure about why she's here until he remembers Babs's statement.

She's lounging in the chair that Alfred had been using last night, her focus all on Tim. Her anger is strong, Bruce being able to smell the alpha with no blockers at all, the solid oranges and ginger comforting in its familiarity.

"What the fuck?" she hisses. "Why the fuck would someone do this?"

The question they've all been asking. The question Bruce absolutely has to find an answer to.

He sighs. "People are monsters" is his only response he can give. Tim shuffles in response, but otherwise stays asleep.

Kate is still frowning deeply. "How's he doing?" she asks. "Seemed to be okay when I came in."

Bruce hasn't woken up because of a nightmare, and there's a small part of him that hopes it's because of his presence. He's certainly not moving until Tim does.

But he knows that Tim still isn't okay. He turns to look at her, trying to put it into words, but he doesn't know how to make his mouth move properly right now. Kate's mouth can though, twisting up into a sad smile.

"Like hell?" she asks.

"God, Kate," he breathes out. "He was put through so much."

His first heat.

Tim will have _ this _ as a memory, and it absolutely sickens Bruce that it's the case.

Tim gives a small sigh in his sleep, pressing his face more into Bruce's neck. He doesn't wake up though, just tries to get even closer.

Bruce can't deny how happiness flickers in his heart.

But he would rather Tim never want to touch than having to go through this to seek out Bruce's comfort.

Kate reaches out and lightly brushes some hair from his face, her smile becoming a little brighter when Tim pushes into her hand the slightest bit. "He's a good kid. Not that it matters if he wasn't. . . ."

Bruce knows what she means. "He is." He shifts Tim a little in his arms, making sure that he's staying comfortable, but still sound asleep.

"Barbara talked to you?"

Kate nods. "I'm taking over for Batman for a time." Her tone books no argument. She means it, and Bruce is not allowed to argue.

Sometimes, Kate really reminds him of his mother. His mother was a beta, not an alpha, but the tone of their voice and the jut of their chin and their stubborn determination to make sure that a person takes care of themselves no matter what? That's Kane through and through.

"Thanks," he tells her. She shrugs. "I'm not doing it for you." She continues brushing Tim's hair. "He needs you, and he needs you here and in one piece." She turns her green eyes onto him. "Don't fuck this up by getting broody and emotional. You've been through a lot of shit, but so has he and right now, you can't let yours take over you. You're the fucking adult and you need to put it aside. And why the _ hell _ are you smiling?"

Bruce can't stop the cheek breaking grin. "You're so much like her."

Kate blinks, and then returns it. "Yeah, you too."

***

Tim wakes up in the warm arms of someone who smells like blackberries and sunshine. It takes him away to place it, and then he realizes that it's Bruce.

His scents are a lot sharper now that he's an omega, and it's taking him awhile to get use to it, but it’s strangely comforting. He burrows his face in the warm neck, humming in contentment as Bruce grips him tighter. He’s really tired, but this feels really nice.

He had no idea that heats were so exhausting. He knows a lot of omega heroes, but he’s never really been around them in heats, that being a private time for them and whoever they chose to spend it with.

And his parents are going to be devastated to learn that he’s an omega, he just knows it. This is the exact opposite of what they wanted him to be, a big alpha, tall and strong and eager to take over Drake Industries.

No, he had to end up a short and slender omega, one who couldn’t care less about the business. He just wants to solve cases and hang out with his friends, and he doesn’t know how to please them.

And now he never will.

As soon as they come back, they’re going to see that he’s an omega and he’ll be lucky if he’s not thrown out of the house.

But for all the ways his parent’s reaction scares him. . . .

Bruce is holding him gently, just like Dick did all yesterday night. They aren’t flinching from his body, their lips aren’t curling up in disgust.

They look at him, and he knows they’re still seeing Tim.

But he also knows that he has to convince to _ never _ breathe a word to his parents about what had happened to him. His parents might be able to come around to him being an omega, figure out some new plan for him and his life that he can handle. But if they found out how weak he was, how utterly ruined he became?

They’ll never forgive him, not ever.

“Tim, I know you’re awake,” Bruce whispers. “You don’t have to get up, but Dick’s been pacing the house for the past hour waiting for you to wake up. Babs as well, she came over with video games and books.”

Tim blinks in confusion. Babs and video games? She always knows the best new games to play, but Tim doesn’t see how this connects to him.

“They mentioned something about introducing you to her favorites?”

They want to play . . . with him? Tim honestly can’t believe it. A part of him knows this is only because they pity him for getting raped. He knows they’ll always pity him. He’s just going to be the poor omega who was raped and needed their help to piece himself together.

If that’s even possible.

His lower body still aches, throbbing in pain and he could swear that he stills feels the knot inside him. He should try to suck it up and pull himself together, but all he wants to do is bury himself further in Bruce’s side. Because this right here is where he’ll be safest, except with Dick.

Tim lets out a sob. He’s crying again. He’s cried more these past few days that he’s cried in years. He doesn’t want to leave Bruce’s arms. He wants to stay here forever, and never face the world. It’s been two days since he was raped, and he can’t pull himself together even a little bit. He can’t even summon the energy to try and walk, not when rolling over hurts so much.

He desperately wants to be okay, but right now, he doesn’t even remember what okay feels like.

“You’ll feel better in a few days,” Bruce says desperately. “I know it. It’s just a hard period right now.”

“Have you told my parents?” Tim forces out. He’s shaking, he realizes distantly. “Have you told them what happened to me?” There’s no screaming phone call about what a complete disappointment he is, but they might be waiting to tell him to his face when they come home. They certainly aren’t going to cut their trip short for him.

“No,” Bruce says, and Tim slumps with relief, only to tense up again with Bruce continues. “I didn’t want to tell them until you were in a better place.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t tell them,” he whispers. “Please, don’t ever tell them.”

“Tim, I can’t keep this from them.” Bruce is rubbing his back, trying to calm him down. He’s so ridiculously emotional and he hates it. “Don’t worry. They won’t stop loving you.”

Of course not, you have to _ start _ loving someone to stop.

He’s just an heir and since he’s failed so miserably in this aspect, they’re going to get rid of him. They’ll make it so he’s a small black stain on their honor.

“_Please_,” he begs. “Please don’t tell them.” He removes his face from Bruce’s shoulder to look into his warm brown eyes. “I don’t want them to ever know.”

Bruce looks more lost than Tim has ever seen him before. “Tim, I can’t just not tell them.”

“Please,” Tim says again. He’s starting to lose sight of Bruce, he’s crying so hard. “They don’t ever have to know.”

“And what about when we’re in court?”

Tim stills. “Court?” He can hardly see Bruce, but he can make out the frown.

“Yes,” Bruce continues. “We’ll need to prosecute this man.”

If Bruce says anything else, Tim doesn’t hear the words. He’s too busy trying to breathe correctly again. Spots dance in front of his eyes, and then he’s pulled back into darkness.

*

He wakes up in solid arms, ones that he knows beyond a doubt are Dick’s. He’s sitting in his lap, curled up with his head tucked beneath Dick’s chin. Dick is softly rocking him, and he feels a hand rubbing his back. That’s Bruce. There’s a third person, rubbing a leg over his pajama bottoms, and he almost recognizes them. Forcing his eyes open, he sees that it’s Babs, her alpha scent of pomegranates and fire, warm and comforting. She smiles when she sees that his eyes are open.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“Panic attack,” Dick rumbles, Tim feeling the vibrations. “At the thought of telling your parents.”

Tim utterly hates it. His muscles are locking up again, and he knows they all feel it.

“Are you going to?” he asks, feeling so utterly exhausted. If Bruce says he is, then Tim won’t fight him. He doesn’t have it in him.

An awkward silence, and then Bruce sighs. “No. It goes against what I feel is right, but I can see how much this affects you, Tim. If the thought of telling them sends you into a panic attack, then I won’t say a word. I can promise you that.”

It’s strange how much that means to him. No one has ever been willing to do something like that for him, believe him when he says that he doesn’t want to do something. His parents, his teachers, his caretakers? They all just told him to suck it up, they knew what was really best.

“Thank you,” he sobs into Dick’s chest, and Dick whines, gripping him even closer. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh baby bird,” Dick whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Tim doesn’t know why Dick is, but he is and for some reason that means something. Tim nuzzles into Dick’s chest, enjoying how protected he feels in the strong arms. He blinks at Babs, who’s watching them with the most unreadable face. The instant she registers his gaze however, a small smile crosses her face.

"Hey there kid," she whispers. "Comfy?"

Tim nods, eyes starting to close. His heat is leaving him so tired, and the panic attack didn't help. Added to the fact that Dick is perhaps the warmest man in the world and his hand feels so good rubbing Tim's side, Tim doesn't see how anyone can blame him for falling into exhaustion so easily.

He decides to stop fighting his eyes, because he's pretty sure he can stay awake even with his eyes closed.

Babs gives a soft laugh. "I brought some things I'd thought you might look. A few video games, some books, a couple movies. . . . Just things I'd thought you enjoy. Later."

Yeah, later sounds good. He'll be able to move later.

Dick’s hand is now in his hair, his scent soothing and comforting as it surrounds Tim. Before he knows it, he’s slipping back into sleep, Dick’s low rumble leading him into that peaceful place.

***

Bruce sits down at the kitchen table, closes his eyes, and begins to rub his forehead, but it does nothing to stop the headache. Another day, another thing that he did to cause Tim to breakdown from stress. He’s obviously winning in this “take care of the traumatized child” game.

No, that award goes to Dick, who yet again has to take care of Tim after Bruce fucks it up and causes a panic attack. He doesn’t begrudge Dick’s place in Tim’s recovery, not at all. He’s so glad to see that Tim has someone whose touch he can stand; he just wishes that he was able to do something without stepping on a trigger.

There’s a clatter next to him, obviously meant to draw his attention. Without opening them, he hums. It’s Alfred. Babs and Kate wouldn’t bother with drawing his attention, they would just demand it. Dick is holding Tim right now.

Bruce is just feeling utterly lost.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, his voice exhausted. “When’s the last time you ate?”

Bruce shrugs. He doesn’t know. He’s not sure it matters. Tim’s the only thing that matters right now.

Alfred sighs deeply. “I shall have to make you something to eat.”

It is absolutely useless to argue with Alfred when he decides that food must be made and a person has to eat. Bruce just shrugs again. Every part of him is feeling a little numb, and he doesn’t know how to wake himself back up.

He keeps his eyes closed, and in the darkness, he can feel Tim’s solid weight against him, his soft breath on his skin, the way he broke down in tears when Bruce suggested talking to his parents and Jesus, isn’t that something he has to come back to? But of course, coming back to it requires talking about it and possibly making Tim cry _ again_.

He doesn’t know what causes it. One moment he’s just thinking about Tim and the next moment a sob escapes out of him, and then another one. His hand moves from his forehead to his hair, gripping it tightly. His shoulders hunch as he thinks about the children he’s failed.

Jason.

Tim.

He couldn’t save them.

What the _ fuck _ is good about Batman if he can’t save the things most important to him?

He’s a grown man, thirty-five years old, and the man who raised him is wrapping surprisingly strong arms around him and pulling him close to his chest, holding him just like he did was Bruce was little, the first time he had been filled with so much grief that he didn’t know what to do with it.

He cries and cries, but it doesn’t feel like enough, he doesn’t see an end to the ocean inside him. He’s always resigned himself to be a little bit broken, and this just proves it.

At the end of the day, he won’t be a good father, not when he can barely save his son.

How does Alfred do it so well? How does he hold them all together?

“Thank you,” he realizes he’s whispering, and Alfred is just responding with, “Of course, my boy. Of course.”

Bruce doesn’t know how long he spends in Alfred’s arms.

He just hopes that Tim feels just as safe in his brother’s arms as he does in his father’s right now.

***

Tim wakes up in misery, his stomach cramping and slick sliding down his legs, his entire body feeling cold even though he can feel the sweat all over his body. He whimpers in pain, hating his body for daring to hit him with another wave of this heat. Dick is beneath him, somehow over the time that he was sleeping laying back down and letting Tim curl up on top of him.

Tim opens his eyes just to have them start to water with pain, his body shaking. He lets out a low whimper, and once again Dick’s hands are on him, massaging his back to ease the cramping.

“Hey, baby bird,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

Tim shakes his heads. “I’m _ not_,” he chokes out. “It all _ hurts_.”

Dick lets out a small, wounded noise, and just continues rubbing his back. “Physically or emotionally?”

“Does it _ matter_?” Tim sobs out. “It just . . . it just _ hurts_.” The pain blurs together, surrounding his brain and his body, melding together and making it so painful that Tim doesn’t feel like he can breathe.

He’s there in that bedroom as much as he’s in Dick’s arms right now. He doesn’t think he’ll ever fully leave it. He doesn’t think it’s possible.

All he can do is cry as Dick rubs his back and holds him tight and does his best to make his little brother feel the slightest bit normal.

He doesn’t allow himself to fall back asleep. All he does is cry as hard as he can for yet another time in this heat from hell. Eventually, he sobs himself out, and opens his eyes to look down at Dick’s shirt. Bright blue and decorated with the image of C-3P0 and R2-D2 as well as the stain of his tears on Dick’s chest.

“Dick?” he asks, voice breaking.

"Yeah?" Dick responds, his own voice sounding suspiciously watery.

"Do you think I'll be okay? One day?"

"God, Tim. _ Yes_. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you're so strong. And you have so many people who love you. And one of these days, you're going to wake up and know those two basic facts like the back of your hand."

Tim nods into Dick's shirt. He knows that his brother would never lie to him. One day, he's going to be okay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Myosotis for reading over this for me!!

Babs smiles as Tim as she wheels into the room, a large bag on her lap. "Hey," she says, stopping when she gets to his bed. Dick's bed actually.

He runs a hand over his face in an attempt to remove the tear-tracks left by yet another breakdown, and Dick stretches next to him, working out the knots. Kate's right behind Babs, leaning against the doorway.

"Hey," he replies to her, and then smiles and waves at Kate. She returns both of the gestures, but doesn't leave her spot.

"How ya doing, kid?" she asks.

Tim shrugs. The true answer is that he feels like utter shit and that he's still in a peak with his heat. But he doubts that anyone wants to hear him complain more, and he's taking advantage of being in control of himself to whisper, "Fine."

He doesn't miss the looks that they all share, but blissfully, none of them say a thing. Babs claps her hand, and narrows her eyes. "Alright. So I've got a brand new laptop filled with video games, I got movies, and I got a book series that Dick tells me you've never read, but I think you would love."

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a book, tossing it onto the bed and then handing the entire bag to Dick who almost drops it with a grunt because it looks heavy as hell.

Tim picks up the book with a frown. _ Percy Jackson and the Olympians_. _ The Lightning Thief_. "What's this?" he asks.

"A book about the demigod son of Poseidon who is snarky and awesome. And he's an omega, presenting right before the start of the series. It's really popular at the library, and it's one of the best series I've read in years." She smiles in pride. "I am **the** young adult librarian." Her smile changes into something quieter. "But you don't need to read it now or all. I just thought you might like to have it in case you think you can get something out of it."

Tim stares at the cover, at the boy with black hair and a sword in one hand staring at the Empire State Building.

"Thanks," he mutters, placing it on Dick's nightstand. "I'll check it out later."

Babs nods. "Whenever you need to."

"Jesus, Babs," Dick whispers next to him, the laptop open as he scrolls through the games. "How much did this cost?"

She shrugs. "That's between Bruce and his credit card company. Sure as shit not my problem."

Without looking, Dick raises his fist and she obilgies with a fist bump.

"But those are Tim's, so no touching," she adds. Dick gives an exaggerated sigh and hands the laptop to Tim. "_Fine_."

Tim accepts it eagerly, eyes lighting up at all the different games that he has at his fingertips. He doesn't know what to play first. There are so many options. He bites his lips as he scrolls through them, finally selecting one called _ Dragon Age: Origins_.

It looks fun.

*

He picked the wrong game.

Or the best game.

He’s staring with a wide-mouth at the screen as he watches Jowan perform blood magic as his character is recruited into the Grey Wardens. Dick is sitting next to him, eating popcorn as he provides commentary. Babs is sitting on the other side of him, providing actual advice. Kate is reading the Percy Jackson book, but her eyes flick in the direction of the screen every so often and she smiles, occasionally sending a text to someone.

He picked a human male omega. Dick had squeezed his shoulder at that choice, giving him a smile that was clearly pride.

He doesn’t think he deserves it. If Dick, Babs, and Kate hadn’t been sitting here, he wouldn’t have done it. He still doesn’t feel comfortable in his skin. The heat’s died down for now, but the itchiness remains. But he knows that they really don’t see him differently for just being an omega. He’s sure they think him weak for not noticing that someone was in his house, that someone was able to get so close to-

He just knows it’s not because he’s an omega.

He manages to get to Ostagar before his eyes start to droop and a wave of exhaustion comes over him. Dick notices it, and saves his game as Tim's eyes close and he slides back into the blankets.

It's amazing how the exhaustion can hit him in heat. Or maybe it's hit him in the trauma. It doesn't really matter, Tim feels gone already, snuggling into the blankets and grabbing a loose pillow to curl around.

He hears Babs and Kate get up, and he mumbles a "Good-bye" to them, and then without thinking, it slides into an "I love you," because while he's never said it before to them, he does. They're here.

They're his family.

Babs squeezes his hand as she whispers, "I love you" back, and Kate's is whispered into his hair as she bends over to kiss his forehead before he leaves.

Dick stays next to him, a steady and warm presence that tells Tim he can slip back into the darkness of unconsciousness.

***

Dick absolutely hates himself right now, but he doesn't know how much longer he can stay in his room with Tim. Kate and Babs left as soon as Tim started falling asleep again, not wanting to do anything to wake him up, which was nice of them, but there's a part of Dick that wishes that one of them offered to stay.

And there's another part of Dick that's so glad they didn't offer, because the thought of leaving Tim again, to do anything, even sleep is too much. It makes him shake and panic and he has to find Tim again, make sure that his little brother is safe and asleep. He was so exhausted last night, and he didn't want to disturb Tim when he was safe around Bruce, but the panic attack over the Drake's happened.

There's four people that can be blamed for what happened to Tim. The first is the monster who did this. The second is Dick for letting Tim go home without making sure that he was okay. And the last two are Tim's own parents, who are never around and they have made their son feel so alone that he doesn't want to tell them that he was raped.

That he's an omega.

Dick hates them so much. He hates that he hates them, but as he slowly untangles himself from Tim and begins to stretch in the middle of his room, all he can think about is what he wants to do to them the next time he sees them.

He flips himself into a handstand, perfect form as always. A million and one thoughts are racing through his head, battering at his skull until his phone chimes. He looks at it in shock, brow furrowing as he leaves his pose and hurries towards it.

It's Donna, sending him a funny meme that she thinks Dick would enjoy. Perhaps he would if he didn't feel so empty.

Dick sits back down on the bed, careful not to disturb Tim, but he can't stop the thoughts entering his mind as he thinks about how exactly they're going to explain Robin's absence to the caped community.

He doesn't want to, but there's no way for Tim to continue being Robin as he mentally and physically heals from this ordeal.

A knock on the door distracts him, and he looks up as Bruce walks in, Leslie next to him with a severe look on her face, and Dick's heart drops.

"What's wrong?" he whispers.

Leslie shakes her head. "I'm here to check his stitches. That's it." She shifts. "He's clear of a multitude of STDs, though we're still waiting for a few more tests to come back. But with his heat, I want to make sure that his stitches are holding up and how he's healing."

Healing. Of course. She needs to do that. But Tim's going to hate it and Dick is going to have to ask him to do that. "He's sleeping," he gets out, throat choking up. "Can you wait until he wakes up?"

Bruce sighs. "Dick," he begins, but Dick cuts him off. "Bruce, he's _ sleeping_."

It's suddenly the most important thing in the world that they don't wake up Tim, Tim who is sleeping and needs the rest, Tim who is so young and needs so much help. He's blinking back tears as he repeats, "Sleeping, he's sleeping," over and over again.

Strong hands land on his arm as Bruce states, "We'll wait until he wakes up. We won't wake him up." Behind him, Dick makes out the vague shape of Leslie as she leaves the room, and suddenly Dick has to leave this room as well. He has to leave this fucking Manor.

He tears himself from Bruce's grip, racing out of the room before he can be stopped and trusting that Bruce won't leave Tim alone no matter what.

He runs down the stairs, out the Manor, dodging shocked gasps and questioning, pushing his legs as fast as he can until he's in the middle of the field, crying into his hands because Tim was sleeping and they wanted to wake him up.

And then he hears Clark's voice.

"Dick?"

He turns around sharply to see Clark float down from the heavens to sit next to him. It forces Dick to blink around him, frowning when he sees that it's a gorgeous sunny spring day, not a cloud in sight.

Where's the rain? Here's the lightning? Where's the fucking gray skies and misery? Why is it so bright and sunny and happy right now?

"Dick, what's wrong?"

He takes a few ragged breaths before the words escape him. "Tim was raped."

Clark freezes. "What?" he whispers. "How?"

"Someone broke into his house when he was going into heat," Dick forces out of his mouth, the words tripping over each other. "And he's an omega and this is- this is-"

Clark's arms are wrapped around him, Dick's head moved to his chest as he cries into Clark, cries over his little brother.

"A child," Dick whispers. "He's a fucking child. How the hell could someone do that to him?"

A watery sigh escapes Clark. "Because some people in this world are very, very cruel."

Dick knows this. Dick's a fucking cop. A vigilante. But he still can't understand it. He never will.

He stares at the white shirt that Clark's wearing, the image blurry through his tears. "I had to leave that house," he whispers out. It was only . . . he has no idea how long ago. But already it's scattered and tricky to define. "I felt like I was suffocating." The words land in between them, and guilt courses through his body. Tim was raped and Dick left him. What does it matter how Dick felt? Tim's so much more important. He's going to wake up soon, and he's going to wonder where Dick is and Bruce will tell him the truth. 

That Dick abandoned him once again.

"That's normal," Clark whispers into his hair. "It's hard to watch someone you love suffer. And you deserve a break."

Dick loves Clark, but Clark's wrong. He doesn't deserve anything. He doesn't even deserve this hug.

It still takes him a few minutes to wrench himself away, wipe his hand across his face to remove the tears. He can't remember the last time he took a shower, and he thinks he smells disgusting.

He should get on that.

He stands up on coltish legs and begins his march back to the Manor.

Back to the little brother that needs him so much.

*

Bruce watches with relief as Clark and Dick walk into the bedroom. Dick refuses to look at him, instead making a beeline for the bathroom. Bruce hopes it's to shower, to feel a little more alive. Clark's eyes are locked onto Tim, his eyes deep with sympathy and pain.

Bruce knows exactly why.

“Clark,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to stay if it’s too much.”

Clark shakes his head. “I can’t abandon him.”

Bruce doesn’t know who he’s talking about.

Dick in the shower? Tim in the bed? Or the kid in Kansas, who’s growing up thinking that he’s the product of a convoluted story of cloning and hidden parentage while the real truth is much, much simpler and much, much harsher.

The truth being that a twenty-three year old Lex Luthor raped a sixteen year old Clark Kent and Clark couldn’t figure out how to abort the fetus, but he couldn’t put him up for adoption either. He had given birth, fallen into severe postpartum, and had been unable to take care of the baby.

He had graduated valedictorian, having hidden the secret from everyone in Smallville, and then left as quickly as he could for the University of Metropolis.

But the pain still lingers, and Bruce can see it in Clark’s eyes.

He stands up, clasping his hand on Clark’s shoulder. Tears are shining in the younger man’s eyes as he stares at Tim in the bed, and Bruce doubts that Clark should be here, not when he _ was _ Tim.

Bruce wonders about that boy in Smallville, Connor. He wonders what he would do if he found out that he wasn’t the product of an accidental cloning down by the Fortress of Solitude (something that in reality wouldn’t exist for five more years). He wonders what he would do if he found out that the “lie” told to Smallville about him being a much younger half-brother found in the system because his mother couldn’t take care of him and Martha Kent, being the kind woman that she was, adopting him was closer to the truth.

He’s spoken to both Martha and Clark.

Clark can do a lot of things, but he was too traumatized to be a mother to an infant then, and now? 

Now, Bruce doesn’t know. He has Jon now, but he knows the boy in Kansas still haunts his thoughts.

"Clark," Bruce whispers.

A sob is his only response, Clark slapping a hand over his mouth instantly, his eyes bright with shame.

When Bruce meets the man who did this to Tim, who ripped all their lives, he will not kill him.

But he will put just as much pain on him as he did on all of them.

Clark takes a step towards Tim, who's sleeping curled around a pillow, looking almost content for once. There's hair sticking to his forehead and Bruce wants to brush it out of the way, but he doesn't want to disturb Tim.

The older omega sinks down onto the floor as he looks at Tim, biting his lip so hard that Bruce is genuinely afraid that he's going to start bleeding.

A ragged sob and then Clark says, "Actually, I think I will leave for now. I can't-"

"Go," Bruce whispers. "You can talk at a better time."

Clark nods, but he doesn't get off the floor until Bruce comes over and helps him up, Clark's face pale and shaking and Bruce fears the place that he's going to right now.

"Go downstairs," Bruce states firmly. "Sit in the sun and eat whatever Alfred gives you until you feel like you can go back home."

"To Lois and Jon," Clark whispers, and Bruce nods. "To Lois and Jon."

*

Clark either recovered fast or he managed to escape Alfred's worry, because he's already left the Manor by the time Dick stumbles out of the shower, hair wet and his body slumped with exhaustion, but he looks a little more alive.

And smells much better.

He collapses on the bed next to Tim, wrapping an arm around the still sleeping boy who without even thinking about curls into his side and noses Dick's neck, sighing with contentment. Dick instantly begins to rub his back, but he refuses to look at Bruce as he mumbles out, "Sorry for my overreaction."

"It wasn't an overreaction," Bruce responds immediately. He doesn't really know if it was or not, but he can tell it was the reaction Dick needed to have. He's not very good with emotions and figuring out the proper places for them, but he knows that he's going to need to try harder now. For his sons' sake. "You needed to let it out."

Dick nods absentmindedly, continuing to rub Tim's back. He then frowns. "Where's Clark?"

Bruce won't tell Dick the truth about Clark, as much as he wants too. That's Clark's story to tell. So he lies. "He had to go pick up Jon."

"Oh." Dick whispers, flinching. "I hope I didn't bother him too much."

Bruce shakes his head. "Clark always has time for you."

Dick brushes that statement off with a quiet, "Okay." Dick looks at Tim. "When he wakes up. . . ."

"Leslie is downstairs with Alfred. You were right to make us think about telling him what we were doing instead of asking him and figuring out another time so he can mentally prepare. We'll wait until after his heat if that's what he wants to do."

Dick nods, body sagging in relief.

"Dick, you know that I just want what's best for Tim."

Dick lets out a sobbing laugh. "Bruce, of course I know that. You always want what's best for people. But you want what's best for them according to _ you. _ The best thing for Tim is to have his stitches checked now, so they're being checked now without thinking that maybe that according to him, it isn't. And maybe it is to him as well, but you have to fucking ask him, Bruce. And yeah, you realized that this time, but even still, _ after _ the fact."

There's a knot in Bruce's throat, one he wants to remove, but he doesn't know how. He was never taught how to process the emotion that makes him feel like this, and he can't ask for help. He's a grown man with children.

He looks at Tim, still so content in Dick's arms. His heat's almost over, he can smell it fading into a natural omega scent, and he thinks there'll just be one more peak, if even that. He's thankful that it'll be over soon, and Bruce prays that his next heat will be much better.

"Helena and Bette are coming over soon," he adds, instead of replying in anyway to Dick's comment. He doesn't know to without stepping into a landmine, but Dick's frustrated sigh and roll of his eyes tell him that he still managed to fuck it up anyway. "Babs has informed them about Tim so they know they're needed to help protect Gotham."

"Jesus Christ," Dick whispers. "We gotta get a fucking handle on this before the whole community knows about Tim. I know no one will say anything to harm Tim, but it's going to be hard enough for him knowing that we all know."

Bruce agrees. So much that, "I've already spoken to everyone about not bringing this up to anyone that Tim does not personally approve of. And I won't be informing them that Clark knows either."

Not when the man was so ghostly pale when he left.

But Dick frowns at that. "Why not? Clark wou-"

"Dick, please trust me on this." His eldest looks at him, and frowns, but he doesn't push the question. He nods, and turns back to Tim, kissing the top of his head softly, still with a hand in his hair. "Do you want me to be downstairs?"

Bruce leans back. "Do you want to be?"

Dick hesitates before he shakes his head. "I wouldn't be able to get the words out and Tim can't be left alone."

Bruce knows. It was the reason why he couldn't run after Dick, not when Tim looked so small in that bed, and Bruce realized that he couldn't leave Tim. Because leaving Tim might mean that he was leaving him to be hurt again, and Bruce couldn't do that to his son. Bruce couldn't do that at all.

Tim whines in his sleep, twisting around and they both hold their breath, afraid of what he might be dreaming or feeling.

A minute later though, he's settled down, breathing softer and they both relax.

Bruce stands up, stretching to loosen his muscles as Tim continues to sleep and Dick splits his gaze between the two of them.

"Tell me if you need anything," Bruce whispers, and Dick nods. "I'll be here."

*

Helena and Bette are downstairs when he gets there. Helena's fury is radiating off her in waves, and Bette's is simmering. Plum and sugar and alpha and roses and persimmons and beta fill the room.

For whatever else has happened, Bruce takes comfort in the fact that Tim is so loved and adored by everyone in this room.

Helena turns as soon as she notices Bruce’s presence, turning and stalking towards him, absolute murder in her eyes. “Name,” she hisses. “I want a _ fucking _ name.”

“Helena-”

“Don’t ‘Helena’ her!” Bette snaps. “We want to know why you didn’t inform us immediately that our little brother was hurt!”

Bruce doesn’t remember adopting either of them, but he brushes past that aspect of the statement to get to the important part, which is that he has two devastated vigilantes that want to kill the man who hurt Tim.

_ Would _ they be open to adoption?

No, he needs to ignore that little part of his brain right now and focus. Besides, Bette’s already his cousin.

“Guys, Tim’s incredibly traumatized,” Babs cuts in to Bruce’s relief. “We shouldn’t overwhelm him, not right now.”

Helena is breathing through her nose, her fury palatable, crossing her arms, but listening to Babs all the same. “But I need to know he’s okay.”

Bruce wants to place a hand on her shoulder, ground her like he needs to be grounded, but he’s not sure if it would be welcome now. “I’ll take both of you up there so you can see him. He’s sleeping, and his mental state isn’t the best, but you’ll see he’s okay.”

She nods, her shoulder hunching into herself. “I don’t want him to be in pain.”

Yes, Helena knows this pain well. Bruce's heart breaks for the little girl she was, and for the child Tim is, and the pain they have to live with because of monsters that haunt homes and childhoods.

He wants to hug her and promise her that Tim has people to help him, that he has all of them, that he has _ her. _

He doesn't. He beckons both her and Bette upstairs, their pace silent like all vigilantes are, and pushes the door to Dick's room open.

Tim is still in Dick's arms, sound asleep. Dick looks close, cracking his eyes open just a little to see who's there, but letting them fall down again when he sees them. He gives a little wave, and then somehow manages to pull Tim even closer to him.

"He's safe," Bruce tells them. "You know Dick. You know he'd rather die than let anything else happen to Tim."

They nod, and they allow Bruce to guide them back downstairs. Alfred is setting the table, the food a simple roast that Alfred must have made just to have something to do. Kate, Babs, and Leslie are already sitting down, and the three of them slide into their places, the empty spots for Dick and Tim glaringly present.

And Jason's too.

With the ghosts of his sons haunting this table, Bruce stares at the other end of it, where Kate is sitting. She just looks back at him, her gaze sad and compassionate.

"How is he?" she asks, and Bruce shrugs.

"As well as he can be."

"I can always come back later," Leslie tells him. "I don't want to make things worse." Bruce knows that, more than anything in the world. Leslie would never do anything to hurt his boys, even if she disagrees with his own methods at times. Bruce shakes his head. "If you can spare the time, I'd like you to stay. If he does want to get this exam over with, then I want it to be done then."

Leslie nods. "I can do that. I have medical reports with me, and they can pass the time."

Helena is staring at her food, clutching her fork tightly. Bruce doesn't think she's seeing what's actually in front of him, and he wants to ask her if she's okay, but he bites back the words. Not when no one other than Babs knows the truth.

Worries flash through his mind as he thinks about how so many people knowing the truth about Tim might affect his recovery, but he can't put the cat back in the bag. All he can do is move on, focus on helping Tim make the best of the right now.

Bruce had rejected the therapy that he had gone to after his parents death, had managed to convince Alfred to stop taking him because it was useless. It wasn't, Bruce realizes now. Still was for him, but it wouldn’t be for Tim. Tim is someone who can recover from the hard things that life throws at him, he has that innate strength in him. Bruce doesn't, Bruce couldn't handle staring at that mirror, but maybe. . . . Maybe he should talk to Dinah about getting Tim therapy.

"Bruce?" Bette's soft voice pulls him from his mental wondering. "We need to talk about tracking this monster down. What does the evidence look like?"

The evidence.

The evidence that he had brought from the Drake household, that he hadn't even begun testing yet.

He had just . . . he had just wanted to check on his sons, and then he fell asleep with Tim, and then he had caused the panic attack and then he had his own breakdown and then Leslie and then-

And then he had just forgotten.

Goddamnit, when will Bruce stop screwing up?

The food sticks in his throat, suddenly tasteless even though it tastes just as delicious as everything that Alfred makes.

"I haven't. . . ."

"You've been busy," Babs cuts in. "I'll go to the Cave after dinner. Take care of it myself."

"Yeah, and you should go over your cases with me, Helena, and Bette, so we know what we should prioritize."

"I'll talk to Dick when he's up," Helena adds in. "Someone needs to take care of Blüdhaven."

Bruce's mind is whirring as the women discuss how they're going to take care of Gotham and Blüdhaven, unable to comprehend that he could actually _ forget _ to process the evidence. The fork is heavy in his hand, and it isn't until Alfred is pulling it out of his hand that he realizes how tightly he was holding it, the metal having left an impression in his palm.

"Alfred," he whispers.

"I think you need to sleep, my boy," he tells him. "You've had some very trying days, and Master Timothy will need you in your best condition."

All Bruce can do is nod, and let Alfred guide him towards the stairs, actually taking him upstairs and making sure that he gets into his bed.

As soon as Bruce's head hits the pillow, he's sucked into a dreamless sleep, exhaustion overpowering him.

***

Tim blinks awake, his eyes grimy and his pressed yet again in Dick's neck. His body's still sore and he still feels warm, but he feels like he's managing to claw his way out of the dark hole that he was pushed into.

Dick is still asleep, and he doesn't want to disturb him, but Tim manages to rearrange himself so that his back is pressed against Dick's chest, Dick's arm slung over his waist, keeping close. Dick's face is buried into his hair, and he's purring, and the overwhelming that fills Tim over his big brother is like a punch in the gut.

How did he get so lucky to have Dick love him so much?

He sighs, and stares at the nightstand.

He stares at the book.

With hesitant fingers, he picks up the book and opens it up, finding the first page, taking in the first words.

_ Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood. _

_ Or an omega. _

Tim ignores the knot in his throat as he reads the next sentence, and then the next and the next and the next, until he's half-way through the book, sucked into the word of Percy, his heart thumping while his hands shake and he can't tear himself away.

He barely registers Dick waking up, or kissing the top of his hair, so absorbed into the world.

It isn't he hears the soft, "Baby bird?" that he tears himself away to look at Dick. Dick's looking at him with a smile that Tim can't figure out, and he tilts his head, unsure of what's making Dick smile like that.

"I'm glad you're doing okay," is the only thing Dick tells him, and Tim starts. He . . . he supposes he is.

He's not really sure what to do with okay.

But then Dick sighs. "But baby bird . . . I gotta ask you. Do you think you'd be okay with an examination today? With Leslie? Over your stitches?"

Fear strikes Tim's heart, but he pushes it aside, and makes himself think. Is he okay?

He thinks he will be. 

On one condition.

"Will you be with me?"

Dick's strong hand grips Tim's own. "Always, baby bird. You'll always have me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic with a lot of triggers in it, but I feel I need to call attention specifically to the fact that this chapter starts Bruce and Babs beginning to track down Tim's rapist (details in the end note) and brings up Helena's canonical assault at the age of six years old (non-graphic). The Bruce & Babs scene starts with "Babs is already up...." and ends with ".....He's going into rut."
> 
> I want to thank Myo and Zuka for reading this fic.

It hurts to hold Dick’s hand this tightly, but Tim can’t let it go. His big brother isn’t making a noise however, and just lets Tim keep that tight grip like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

Because really? It  _ is. _

Dr. Thompkins is checking his stitches, making sure they’ve held up during his heat. Which means fingers inside him. They don’t hurt, not like . . . not like what happened. And Tim remembers Bruce’s fingers in him for just a minute to pull out the pearl necklace. And there was the exam that happened That Night, but Tim doesn’t remember much of that because he had Dick’s strong chest and warm scent and bad humming to distract him.

Right now, he’s all too aware of what’s happening.

He just breathes, stares up at the ceiling, and squeezes Dick’s hand until Leslie lifts her hands off him. He sits up immediately, reaching for his underwear and sweatpants. He doesn’t want to be naked, even if it’s only partially. Dick just brushes his hair out of his face, and then wipes away tears that Tim didn’t know were falling.

“Proud of you,” his big brother whispers as he kisses the top of Tim’s head. He just nods as he presses his face into Dick’s chest, wrapping his arms around the older man who instantly returns it.

Leslie is talking to Bruce just a few feet away, next to the Batcomputer, reporting back her findings. His shoulder slump with relief, and Tim knows that he’s going to be okay medically.

Emotionally, he feels that’s a completely different story.

Bruce walks towards them, his mouth lifting a little. “Stitches help up, great progression of healing, and these are dissolvable, so no worries about needing to get them taken out.” He looks directly at Tim. “Just let us know about any bleeding or new pain.”

Tim nods. He can do that for Bruce.

Dick sighs. “Alright. Tim, what are you up for now?”

He bites his lip. Part of him wants to go back to bed and sleep, but . . . he also doesn’t. And his entire family is here, his aunt and his big sisters. He wants to see them.

"Movie night?" he asks, and the smile that lights up Dick's face is blinding.

"Yes! What are you feeling up to? Harry Potter? Lord of the Rings? Star Trek? Star  _ Wars _ ?"

"National Treasure?"

Dick blinks. "Tim, do you know the can of Bruce you're opening with that?"

Tim shrugs. "I like the movies. And he won't be that bad, right?" He turns to look at Bruce, who's going through a complicated face journey. "Bruce?"

The older alpha gives a heavy sigh. "I will refrain from commentary." He still places a hand on Tim's shoulder and leans to give him a kiss on the head, and Tim sighs in relief.

He glances at the stairs. He doesn't want to climb them. Dick had carried him down, but there's a part of Tim that feels he has a responsibility to push himself harder now. He needs to get back into fighting shape to be Robin.

Leslie notices his gaze however, and she swiftly puts a stop to it. "No strenuous physical activity, which those stairs are. Light walking right now." Tim opens his mouth to argue though why he doesn't know, but she stops him again. "No complaints. I don't trust you, any of you, to simply stop because you think you should. You'll push yourself too hard." She points to Dick. "He can carry you right now."

Dick's been carrying him everywhere, and Tim can't even begin an argument before he's in Dick's arms and half-way up the stairs. He doesn't think he wants to argue anyway, wrapping his arms around Dick's neck.

"So," Dick begins, "I was thinking that maybe, we could convince Alfred to bake you a cake." Tim stares at him. "Okay, yes. Bake us a cake. But you can have most of it. Unless he makes chocolate. Then 50/50."

It's ridiculous. It means nothing. It sounds so much like a conversation that they could have had a week ago that Tim wants to laugh until he's crying.

It makes him feel normal.

Dick gets him up the stairs, and then glances at Tim, who nods once while Dick puts him down, and Tim takes his first actual steps in days.

His legs are stiff and sore. His ass still hurts. He wants to whimper and cry.

He's determined to walk to the fucking living room by himself.

Dick's looking at him with such pride, it almost makes him feel silly, but Tim's actually proud of himself. He needs to lean on Dick about halfway down the path, but he manages to get to the theater room on his own two feet to spend actual time with his family.

Bruce must have sent a text, or Dick snuck one when he wasn't looking, because everyone is already there. Babs is sitting in her chair, texting on her phone, while Kate sits next to her in a comfy theater chair, legs swung over the other side of it so Bette can paint her nails a bright red. Helena is sitting a couple seats down, reading a book, but as soon as Tim and Dick walk in, she looks up with a smile.

"Hey!" she says, standing up, and Tim can't help it. He's missed his big sister, and his arms are around her before he can think. She smells like plums and sugar and alpha, and she's rubbing his back, pressing a kiss into his hair.

Tim is refusing to cry again, but tears still manage to prick his eyes. "Glad to see you," he mumbles. "Missed you."

"Missed you too, baby bird," she whispers.

Tim doesn't know how long he stands there, soaking in Helena, but as soon he manages to pull back, he sees Bette looking at him, her body on edge and he’s missed her too, and ends up in her arms, inhaling the smell of beta and roses and persimmons.

The tears are still picking his eyes, but he's refusing to let them fall, and he takes hope in that. He thinks he's finally able to start controlling his emotions, and that gives him hope that he'll be able to be Robin again soon. He just has to prove to Bruce he's not weak.

He pulls back after some time, sitting down in the chair in between Helena and Bette, Helena's hand in his and Bette's hand on his shoulder, and he can't stop the smile or the feeling of peace that washes over him.

*

They watch both National Treasure movies, the first two Mummy movies, and Pirates of the Caribbean before they're exhausted, rubbing at their eyes, and Alfred refuses to make them coffee to help them stay up any longer. He also refuses to hear of them leaving for their own apartments, insisting that this was why the Manor had guest rooms. He gets them to bed, Tim stumbling against Dick's side as he's walked to his room, his eyes falling shut. His heat's over, but the exhaustion still remains, deep in his core.

It's his actual room in the Manor, when he's been spending the entire time in Dick's room.

He hums as Dick gets him to the bathroom, handing his clothes before shutting the door. Tim gets ready for bed on automatic, and opens the door to be led to his bed, Dick tucking him like he's a child.

He was never tucked in as an actual child, but he imagines it would be something like this.

"Hey, baby bird," Dick whispers. "Do you want to sleep in here tonight alone, or-"

Tim's eyes fly open, and he begins to shake.

He can't be alone in a room. He just . . . no, he can't be left alone. Being left alone, in the dark, in a bed, means that he can be attacked again. He knows that no one should be able to get into the Manor, but it doesn't matter, no one should have been able to get into the Drake house anyway and  _ He _ still did it.  _ He _ still got in and he . . . and he. . . .

There are so many things that Tim can say, and the worst thing of all slides through his lips. "I don't want to be raped again," he chokes out, tears clouding his vision, pulling his legs up to his chest, rocking himself as he stares at Dick through his tears, his eyes adjusting to the dark, shaking in despair.

He can't sleep alone, he needs  _ someone _ with him. Sobs are jerking out of him, because something bad will happen if someone's not in bed next to him, he knows it. He knows that somehow He will find Tim here and force him to be silent as he's raped again, and Tim won't be able to do anything.

Dick's holding him before he knows it, guiding his nose to his neck, where he can take a big breath and  _ know _ that this is his big brother, that Dick will make everything okay. He wraps his arms around Dick, and holds him back as tightly as he can, unwilling to let him go, not when it means danger. "Please don't make me sleep alone," Tim jerks out, feeling so pathetic and small, but he can't do this. He can't be as brave as he should be, not right now, not when he knows that Dick won't deny him anything, even if that makes him the pathetic and manipulative omega his parents hate.

Dick pulls him down to the bed, allowing him to curl up in his big brother's arms as he cries yet again. Dick's hand is in his hair, and he's humming, and Tim is just so glad that he's not going away. He's here, he's going to take care of him. Tim's not  _ alone _ . He takes a deep breath, and then more sobs come choking out of him, but he doesn't resist it at all.

He's learned over the past few days that he can't stop them, so he might as well accept the comforting strong arms of his big brother, and cling tightly to the alpha.

He's tired. It doesn't take him long to fall asleep, crying the entire time.

***

Dick's heart is beating wildly as he grips Tim close to him, as Tim's breath starts to even out, burying his face into Dick's chest and Dick slowly rubs his hands on Tim's back.

Fuck that was bad. That was worse than Dick ever would have thought bad. He had known there was a good chance that Tim wouldn't want to spend the night alone, but he wanted to give Tim the option after he had such a good day.

A good day that Dick had utterly destroyed by setting off Tim's panic attack. He presses a kiss to his little brother's hair as Tim's breath evens out, but it still makes his heart break when he thinks about the sobs he had let loose.

It breaks Dick's heart at how one thing was enough to send Tim back to That Night.

_ Blood on sheets, Tim so still, crying in pain, the smell of strange alpha and an omega in distressed heat, and cum staining the room. _

Dick's own breath kicks up a notch, gripping Tim even tighter, unwilling to close his eyes because he knows if he does, he'll be back There.

Nothing bad happened to him, but he can't stop the tears from pricking his eyes or how he wants to scratch his skin off, how the worst possibilities float through his mind, and he thinks about everything that he could have done right. He bites his lip to cut off his own sobs, because he can't keep doing this. He can't keep breaking down when Tim needs him to be strong. He's twenty-two, a fucking adult, and Tim's fourteen.

He can't lose himself.

He looks at the wall, holds his brother close, and prepares for a long night.

*

He doesn't sleep. His body tries to, a few times, but his mind sees Tim in that bed, and he forces himself awake through sheer adrenaline coursing through his body. He holds him tighter and refuses to let him go.

Tim just sighs.

He doesn't know what time it is when Bruce stumbles into the bedroom, and takes them in with sad eyes, but the sun still hasn't risen yet.

"Dick, what happened?" he whispers, stumbling over to them and wiping Dick's face. It's wet. Oh. He guesses he's been crying. He didn't realize.

"I hurt Tim," Dick whispers, his throat dry and raw. "It was bad, B."

Bruce shakes his head. "You would never hurt him, Dick. Just tell me what happened."

Dick bites his lip, and then continues on. "I took him to bed last night, and I didn't think before I left the room. I thought- I thought he was better, so I asked if he wanted to sleep alone. He couldn't handle the thought, and had a huge panic attack." He looks into Bruce's warm brown eyes, his father's hand still wiping his cheek. "Bruce, he's afraid that if he sleeps alone, he'll be raped again."

Bruce is incredible at hiding his emotions, but it's clear that the idea is shooting pain through his heart. "He knows that he won't be, right?"

Dick shrugs. "It's trauma, Bruce. It doesn't have to make sense. He was raped in a dark room in his own bed when no one else was around, so in his mind, the only way to prevent that from happening again is by having someone else around. Statistics and logic and rationality of that almost certain never to happen again, especially here, aren't going to work. He's being guided by pure terror and the need to survive."

He looks down at his little brother, frowning in his sleep, face pressed to Dick's chest. "We just have to help him realize that he survived."

Bruce sighs. "You're right." And then he frowns. "Dick, when's the last time you got any sleep?"

He frowns. He doesn't want to tell Bruce the truth, because then Bruce will make him leave Tim and he can't leave Tim. Bruce sighs again, and sits on Tim's bed, settling in. "Alright, you close your eyes right now. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep." Dick frowns, but he can't argue with that logic. Bruce's hand moves from his face to his hair, and the soothing movements overtake him.

He only sees flickers of Tim in that bed before he falls totally unconscious.

***

Bruce loves that Dick can talk so authoritatively and definitively about Tim's trauma, but he can't say a word about his own, because it's becoming clearer and clearer that Dick has his own issues with what happened that night, ones that Bruce doubts that his eldest will ever call trauma.

He remembers having to pull a pearl necklace out of his fourteen year old son, and it's only his promise to Dick that prevents him from running to the bathroom and vomiting, forcing the bile back down.

God, he fucking hates pearls.

Perhaps . . . perhaps he still has his own issues about that night lingering in his head, though he was only present for Tim at the Cave.

He remembers Alfred rushing downstairs, face pale and devastation that Bruce hadn't seen since Jason died on it. Guilt twists in his gut. Monsters keep on hurting his sons, and he can't stop them.

The Joker killed Jason and some bastard of a man hurt Tim. 

Alfred's voice had sounded so weak as he told Bruce what Dick had said, and Bruce had hoped that it was some awful and cruel lie, because that would have been leagues better than Tim actually presenting and being raped in the same night. No, it's not possible, it couldn't have happened.

But he did. He had seen how pale and terrified Tim was when Dick had arrived at the Cave, and his brain had stopped, only able to move on autopilot. There's a part of him that does not want to leave his sons, but he needs to get downstairs and start going through the evidence. Babs had started the process last night, but he knew that there was no success and they had spent all of yesterday with Tim, enjoying his laughter and his happiness and the knowledge that his youngest was actually getting better.

But there are so many times that one can start to feel better before being pulled back to the terror of the past and the one event that you think defines it.

He makes sure that they're both firmly tucked in, kissing both of their heads as he leaves Tim's room and heads downstairs to the Cave.

Babs is already up, even though it's not even six in the morning. Bruce doesn't think she even tried to snatch a couple of hours of sleep. He doesn't say anything and she doesn't acknowledge him, just continuing her work as machines and DNA analysis run.

What he sees makes his heart leap into his throat.

This DNA is connected to dozens of rape and murder cases throughout the country. All unsolved, the man who did this clearly a grifter and someone who's slipped through the cracks for years.

He's killed some of his victims, but not all of them. The ones that survived stated to the police, in all the statements that Babs had pulled up, that the man held a knife to their throat, and told them that if they found one sound or fought back at all, he'd kill him.

Bruce thanks God that Tim chose survival over fighting.

And he desperately wants to get his hands on this bastard.

Babs is still searching for cases.

By the time she finishes, she has over two hundred cases, stretching back thirty years, only a few that were connected together. And this is only the boy's who were found, or who came forward.

This is one of the most prolific serial rapist and murderer, if not the most prolific, working in the United States today.

And he targeted Tim.

He had managed to stalk Tim for weeks, underneath all their noses, until that fateful night. That's what his MO seems to be. He arrives in a place by whatever means and whatever reasoning, and finds a boy of around thirteen to seventeen. No preference for dynamics, he's raped alphas, betas, and omegas, but they all have dark hair, light eyes, pale skin, short, and slender.

He finds their homes, which are all big. He lives in basements and attics and in between the walls. He creeps out one night when no one but the boy is around, steals jewelry and other small things, and then walks away from the lives that he's shattered.

This man was living in the Drake house for weeks, and Tim has barely been there with his parents gone.

Tim's attack wasn't a robber thinking that he got extremely lucky to find an omega in heat with no one else around, it was an extraordinarily unlucky coincidence that Tim just happened to present and decided to actually spend a night in that house and that's when this man decided to make his move.

Bruce's body goes numb. A roaring over takes his ears. He remembers after Jason's death, how much he wanted to kill the Joker. Shoot him with a gun, shove a knife into his chest, strangle him until that fucking clown couldn't laugh anymore.

He feels it again. That curdle of anger, that low growl in his throat. . . .

He's going into rut.

He turns on his heels and storms up the stairs, his vision red as the only thing he can focus on is Tim. He needs to be with his son, he needs to hold him and comfort him. He needs to make sure that he's okay, and makes sure that he never leaves Bruce's side again. The anger in him is too much.

He storms into Tim's room, the sound of the door waking up both Tim and Dick, but Bruce doesn't care.

He strides over to his son, pulling him into a hug, and pressing his face to his neck, inhaling that scent of raspberries and cinnamon and snow and roses, making sure that Tim's pulse is steady and his skin is warm.

Tim makes a small noise, but quickly wraps his arms around Bruce, holding him back as tightly as he can. Bruce can feel Tim's body pressed against his, all lean muscle and whipcord strength, but he's not big. His fighting is all about agility and strategy and getting the upper hand mentally to take someone down physically. Without that, Tim has to rely on luck and it left him that night. A question burns on his tongue, because he wants to know why Tim ended up going back to the Drake house that night. Why didn't he come to the Manor? He would have woken up in his heat, and they could have taken care of him through a normal biological process that he wouldn't now associate with terror and rape.

He will never ask. He will never breathe a word of it to Tim. Because he knows that Tim will think that Bruce blames him when that's the farthest thing from the truth.

He gets on the bed, moving Tim into a more comfortable position as he holds his son close to him. He's furious at himself, at this rapist, at the Drake's.

God, at the Drake's.

"I'm sorry," Tim whispers, bringing Bruce the slightest bit out of his heat. "I know I threw a tantrum yesterday."

He wants to find them and demand to know why. Why does their son have a panic attack at the thought of telling them that he was raped? Why does their son think he'll be hated for being an omega, something that he was always going to be no matter what? Why does their son think being triggered is something that he should call a tantrum? Why did they treat their child this way? Why was it worth having a child if this is how they're going to treat him?

"Tim," Dick whispers, because Bruce can't form words right now. "You didn't throw a tantrum. You are  _ traumatized. _ You don't have to apologize."

Tim stares at his hands. "I manipulated you. I knew if I asked you to stay with me, you would."

It hurts Bruce how Tim doesn't see that as a good thing. That he has someone in his life that he can depend on to always be there for him, and how his parents and his mind have made him reframe it as a manipulation. He takes a deep breath, and growls, "Good."

"I know that you know that, Tim. I  _ want _ you to know that."

"He's a good person," Tim whispers, and they can both hear the unspoken confession. Dick sighs.

"So are you, Tim."

***

Bruce keeps him in his arms while he rides out his rut, and Dick eventually wraps himself back around Tim as well. The comfort and scent are enough to make Tim purr for the first time in his life, smelling honey and blueberries and blackberries and sunshine. He doesn't think it's very good, it sounds so jerky and soft, but he's still  _ purring. _

He clings to Bruce with one hand. He looks at Dick's hand, scarred around the knuckles, and he places the other against it.

Dick's a tall man. Broad too. He used to have a short and slender body like Tim, but over the years and after his presentation, he filled out and grew up, getting over six foot and becoming the man that gives the most encompassing hugs in the world. Tim wondered if he would follow a similar pattern, but he doubts it now. Some omegas get as big and strong as you would expect alphas to be, but Tim doesn't think that's in the cards for him. His parent's have already spent a great deal of time remarking that he's not the physically impressive son they wanted, a steely-eyed alpha already six foot at fourteen. His mother once spat out the word "pretty" like it was a filthy curse word.

She isn't really wrong. Neither was He. There's a mirror against his wall, and he can easily angle to see his own face. He doesn't have a high opinion of himself, but he sees what tempted Him and how he was disappointing to her. High cheekbones, cupid bow lips, a small and slender nose with dark blue eyes and long black hair. He doubts that he's going to surprise anyone by being an omega. He doesn't think anyone will ever be able to look at him and think of him as anything other than an omega. He doubts it. He's never seen Dick mistaken for anything other than an alpha, and even when villains comment on his looks, it's as they croon, "pretty alpha."

The man in question tenses for a moment behind him, then pulls him closer, nuzzling his nose in Tim's neck, trying harder to get his scent.

His scent.

He wonders what he smells like now. Dick doesn't seem to mind it, so he doubts it's anything bad. He's still curious.

He's drawn out of his thoughts when they all hear a soft knock on the door. One whispered "Come in," later, it's Helena, smiling at him as she glances at Bruce and Dick while she carefully closes the door. They look at her, and then at each other, and then they stand up. Bruce still smells like he's in rut, but he's fighting his instincts, following Dick's lead out the door.

She smiles at them as she strides across the room, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed. She places her hand close to Tim's, and without hesitation, he grabs it, squeezing it tightly. "Are you okay?" she asks.

Tim shakes his head. "I can't sleep alone," he whispers, and her face breaks with sympathy.

"That's natural," she whispers. Tim shakes his head.

"I'm Robin, I can't- I have to be stronger."

"Oh, Tim," she sighs, rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand. "No one is saying you're not except you." She brings their clasped hands together and kisses their interlaced fingers. "And strength comes in many forms. One of them is learning to ask for help." Her mouth quirks into a grin. "In this family, we could all stand to learn that lesson." She looks at him. "I'm getting ready to go to 'Haven for a couple weeks, just while Dick stays here." Fuck, he's even ruining Dick's job, but Helena, somehow reading his thoughts, shakes her head. "No, it's his decision. I'm just there to keep an eye on a few cases." Her mouth twists. "There's this woman there that he's working with, Catalina, trying to take down this asshole named Blockbuster, and God, she's a trip." She rolls her eyes, and Tim can't stop the small laugh that escapes him.

She smiles back, but it slowly slides off her face to be replaced by something sad, looking down at their hands, and she takes a deep breath. "Tim, I wanted to tell you something." She starts to stumble her words out, them pattering into the open air like rain on a sidewalk. "My family had enemies when I was a child. Horrible, terrible men that were less than the gum on the bottom of their shoes. One day, I was taken as a means to hurt my father." Her eyes shine bright with tears, but she refuses to let them fall as Tim's heart sinks to his stomach. "I was six years old." She squeezes his hand tighter. "They raped me."

The words hover in the arm, choking the both of them, and Tim doesn't even think before he lunges up to wrap his arms around Helena, closing his eyes tightly as he buries his nose into her neck, hate blaring in his chest at the men who would hurt his big sister when she was only six years old.

He's fourteen and he's barely surviving it.

She rubs his back, pressing kisses into his hair and whispering into his ear, "I know how it feels. If you ever want to talk about it, I'll be here."

He nods, clinging to her tighter because as much as he wishes she didn't, she does  _ understand. _ She understands how it feels and what it means, but most importantly, she's here. She survived. She did more than that, she lived. She's his big sister and Huntress and a vigilante that he looks up to and this happened to her just as much as it did Tim. "Thank you," he chokes out, and he feels her nod.

"Anything for you," she responds. "And let them take care of you. It's so much easier when people want to help you."

He doesn't know how long she holds him, but eventually they untangle, both of their eyes red, but a smile on their face. Dick's standing in the door now, and Tim knows that he figured it out. Helena too, because all she does is smile as he stumbles out. "If you ever need to talk- I mean, I don't  _ know _ \- But I can listen and I can hug."

She laughs. "I know that, asshole," the tone kind despite the insult. She leans over to pat his knee. "I might take you up on that in a few weeks." She wipes her eyes and gracefully stands up, straightening her shirt and fixing her posture. "Enough emotions right now. I just wanted to let you know that you're never going to be alone." She squeezes his shoulder as she walks out the door, and Tim's eyes blur in pride over his big sister.

And then he realizes that he still demanded Dick sleep with him last night, and he grimaces, looking up at Dick, who's watching him carefully. He opens his mouth to apologize for everything he's done, all his mistakes, but Dick just shakes his head, coming and grabbing his hand to squeeze it tight. "Don't. I shouldn't have even thought of leaving you alone."

Tim frowns. "I shouldn't have made such a big deal about this."

Dick huffs a bitter laugh, grabbing Tim's face and cradling it gently in his hands. "Timmy, you're a big deal." He presses their foreheads together. "Stop thinking that because you want something, you don't also need it. You deserve to feel safe in your own home, and it's not a burden to cuddle you." Dick smiles. "If you haven't figured it out, I'm a very tactile person and a big brother. It's basically my job to cuddle my little brothers whenever they feel like shit, and I don't care if it's twenty times an hour. You need a hug, you need to stay by your side and not move a fucking inch, baby bird, I'm  _ there. _ No matter, always for you."

Tim nods. It's hard for him to believe it. He doesn't know if he should believe it.

Yet he doesn't doubt that Dick means it. "Okay," he whispers. "Can we go get breakfast now?"

Dick laughs again, but this time it's bright and warm and real. "Absolutely. Let's go eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re: Bruce & Babs scene, they find out that Tim's rapist is extremely prolific and that he's been breaking into houses and sleeping in them with residents unaware before he rapes (and possibly murders) his victims

**Author's Note:**

> I'm salazarastark on tumblr as well, so follow me [here](https://salazarastark.tumblr.com/)! I'm not as active as I'd like to be, but I'm always up for talking about my fics or anything else!


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